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THE 



HOUSEHOLD BOOK 



OF 



POETET. 



COLLECTED AND EDITED 
BY 

CHARLES A. DAI^A. 



• 



ELEVENTH E D I T I N — B E V I SE D AND ENLARGED. 



NEW YORK: 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

90, 92 & 94 GRAND STREET. 

LON"DO^: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN. 
1869. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by 

D. APPLETOX & COMPANY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New Yorli, 



1^ Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
In the Clerk's OSce of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District cf New York. 



By Tf8.iisfer 
JUN • IK/ 



/yu 



PEEFACE. 



The purpose of this book is to comprise within the bounds of a, single 
volume whatever is truly beautiful and admirable among the minor poems 
of the English language. In executing this design, it has been the con- 
stant endeavor of the Editor to exercise a catholic as well as a severe taste ; 
and to judge every piece by its poetical merit solely, without regard to 
the name, nationality, or epoch of its author. Especial care has also been 
taken to give every poem entire and unmutilated, as well as in the most 
authentic form which could be procured ; though the earliest edition of an 
author has sometimes been preferred to a later one, in which the alterations 
have not always seemed to be improvements. 

The arrangement of tlie book will be seen to be somewhat novel ; but 
it is hoped that it may be found convenient to the reader, and not alto- 
gether devoid of aesthetic congruity. The Editor also flatters himself that 
in classifying so many immortal productions of genius according to their own 
ideas and motives, rather than according to their chronology, the nativity 
and sex of their authors, or any otlier merely external order, he has exhib- 
ited the incomparable richness of our language in this department of litera- 
ture, quite as successfully as if he had followed a method more usual in such 
collections. 

That every reader should find in these pages every one of his favorite 
2 



1' R E r A C E . 



poems is, perhaps, too much to expect ; but it is believed that of those on 
which the unanimous verdict of the intelligent has set the seal of indis- 
putable greatness, none, whether of English, Scotch, Irish, or American 
origin, will be found wanting. At the same time, careful and prolonged 
research, especially among the writers of the seventeenth century, and in 
the current receptacles of fugitive poetry, has developed a consicerable 
store of treasures hitherto less known to the general public than to scholars 
and to limited circles. Of these a due use has been made, in the confident 
belief that they will not be deemed unw^orthy of a place with their more 
illustrious companions, in a book which aspires to become the familiar 
fi'ioud and companion of every household. 



New York, August, 1856. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE ELEVENTH EDITION. 

It is hoped that the revised edition of this collection of poems, w^hich is 
herewith issued, may not be thought in any respect less worthy than its 
predecessors of the remarkable favor which the public has accorded to 
the work. In its preparation, the poetry produced during these eight 
years, both in this country and England, has been perused, and the 
observations of the numerous critics who commented upon the first edition 
have been diligently consulted. Some pieces may now be missed which 
were formerly to be found in our pages ; but as their places are filled by 
others which are believed to possess greater merit, wdiile the volume is con- 
siderably enlarged, it is presumed that these changes- will not be disap- 
proved, especially as the system of arrangement and the 'general character 
of the collection remain unaltered. 

>Tew Yokk, August, 18GG. 



INDEX. 



POEMS OF Is^ A T U R E 



Address to the Nightingale 

Afar in the Desert 

Afternoon in February 

Airs of Spring 

Almond Blossom 

Angler 

Angler's Trysting Tree 

Angler's Wish 

Ansling, Verses in Praise of. . . , 

April . .". 

Arab to the Palm 

Arethiisa 

Autumn 

Autumn 

Autumn — A Dirge 

Autumn Flowers 

Autumn's Sighing 

Hoe r.... 

P.elfry Pigeon 

Birch Tree. 

Black Cock 

Blood Horse 

Blossoms 

Blow, Blow, thou Winter "Wind. 

Bobolink 

Bramble Flower 

Brier 

Broom Flower 

Bugle Song 

Canzonet^Flowers are Fresh, . . 

Chorus of Flowers 

Cloud ,. . 

Come to these Scenes of Peace. . 

Coral Grove 

Coi-nflelds 

Cricket 

Cricket 

Cuckoo 

Cuckoo 

Cuckoo and Nightingale ...*.... 

Cvnthia 

Daffodils 

Daffodils *. 

Daisy 

Daisy / 

Dandelion 

Death of the Flowers 

Dop.irture of the Swallow 

Description of Spring 

Dirge for the Tear 

Doubting Heart 

Drinking 

Drop of Dew 

Evening 

PZvening, Ode to 

Kvening Pt;ir 

Evening Wind — Spirit that ( 
breathes' ( 



Vase 

liichnrd Banvfield 51 

Thorn as Pr ingle ... 75 

Longfelloio (. 112 

Tliomds Careic . . . . 10 

E<l)rln. Arnold 13 

John. OhalkhiU 20 

T. T. S/odi/d/i 20 

Jm<i/c Wa/ton 22 

Woftoii 21 

Joh 11 Kclile . , 12 

Bfi>/<ti'd Taylor,... 73 

Shelletj 29 

Jlnod 07 

Keaii; f»G 

S/idlri/.: 9G 

Mr.9. S:»ifhc>/ 9-^ 

T. B. neiid... 97 

Vaughun 70 

Willh 67 

Lowell.'. 65 

Joanna Baillie . .. 29 

Barr>i Coriiicall.. . 76 

IferrMc.,. 35 

Shake-^'xiare , 110 

Thomnx inn 22 

Ehenf~cr Elliott.... 41 

Landor 42 

Mary How at 40 

Tennyaon 100 

Camo'i'.tH 43 

Leigh Hunt 44 

Shelley 77 

Bniclei 5S 

Percival 85 

Mary Iloxciit 92 

vr. C. Bennett 107 

OoiDper 107 

John Logan 23 

Wordm-orth 23 

Chaucer 23 

Ben Jonnon 104 

Wordmrorth 35 

Ilerrick 85 

Montgomery 37 

Wordiiicorih 83 

Loicell 42 

Bryant 93 

Will/am Howitt. . 107 

TjOrd Siirrey 10 

Shelley 113 

Jfi-ss Procter 107 

Jnacreon 7S 

Marvell 14 

Tennyson 101 

Collins 102 

Camjyhcll 102 

Bryant 101 



Pacr* 

Evening in the Alps Montgomery 103 

Fancy Keats 108 

Fidelity Wordsioorth 91 

Flower and Leaf Chaxieer 3 

Flowers Ilood 43 

Flowers Longfellow 45 

Fly Vincent Bourne 72 

Folding the Flocks Beaumont & Fletcher 100 

Fountain Lowell 30 

Fringed Gentian Bryan t 92 

Garden Marrell 58 

Garden Cowley 59 

Grasshopper Lovelace 68 

Grasshopper Anacreon 68 

Grasshopper and Cricket Leigh Hunt 70 

Grasshopper and Cricket Keats C9 

Gras.';hopper, Chirping of Walter Harte C9 

Green Linnet Wordsworth 28 

Greenwood W.L.Bowles 58 

Grongar Hill John Dyer 98 

Gulf- Weed C. G. Fenner 84 

Hampton Beach Wkiftier 85 

Harvest Moon ILK. White 105 

Holly Tree Southey 110 

Humble Bee Emerson 70 

Hunter of the Prairies Bryant 94 

Hunter's Song Barry Cornu-all.. . 95 

Husbandman" JohnSterling 92 

Hymn in the Yale of Chamouni. Coleridge 114 

Hymn to Pan Keats 64 

Hyuin to the Flowers Horace Smith 46 

Influence of Natural Objects.... Wordsioorth 113 

Inscription in a Hermitage Thomas Wa Hon.. . 62 

Invocation to Eain in Summer.. W.C.Bennett 77 

Ivy Green Charles Dickens. . . 98 

Julv John Clare 57 

Lark Jfogg 19 

Latter Kain Jones Very 97 

Lion and GiratTo ... Thomas Pringle ... 74 

Lion's Ride Freiliarath 73 

Little Beach-Bird B. IL Dana 84 

Little Streams Mary Howitt 81 

March Wordsioorth 12 

M.ay Percival 15 

Meadows Herrick 91 

^lidges dance aboon the Burn... L'obert Tannahill. 

Midnight Wind 

Moan, moan, ye Dying Gales. , 

Moonrise Ernest Jones 104 

Morning S'laJcespeare 18 

Morning in London Wordsworth IG 

Mother Nightingale , VUlegas 55 

Mountain Daisy Burns 86 

My Heart's in the Highlands.... J?Kr?(S 95 

Nature Jones Very 33 

Nature and the Poets Keats 47 

Nicht is nigh Gone Alex. Montgomery. Ifi 

Night Shelley 104 



Motherwell 109 

Henry Neele 83 



Night Blanco White 30G 

Nighting:ale Milton 51 

Nightingale Drnmmond 51 

Nightingalo Colerirhie 53 

Kishtingalo Gil Vicente 55 

Nightingale Maria Vis^eher.... 55 

Nightingale and the Dove Wordsworth 58 

Nitchtinsale's Departure Charlotte Smith .... 56 

Nightincjale, Ode to Keats 5-2 

Ni£;hlSonff Clavdiufi 106 

North Wind J>.M. Mulocl- Ill 

Novemhor Hartley Coleridye.. 98 

Owl Anonymous 106 

Pan Beanmoni & Fletcher 65 

Philomela ■ Matth eio Arnold ... 53 

Primroses, with Morning Dew. . ITerrii'k 85 

Question Shelley 83 

■Rain on the Eoof Anonymous 77 

Eedbrcast Drummond Hi 



Retirement Charles Cotton 

Kcturn of Spring Pierre Ronsard.... 10 

EOve du Midi Jiose Terry 64 

Khodora Emerson 30 

Hobin Bedbreast AHingham 90 

Hose Waller 43 

Sabbath Morning Leyden 17 

Sea Barry Cornxcall. . . 81 

Sea — In Calm Barry Cornwall. . . 84 

Seaweed Lonei/elloio , 

Seneca Lake Perciral , 

Skylark Shelley 

Small Celandine Wordsicorth 

Snow-Storm Emerson 

Song for September T. W. Parsons. . 

Song for the Seasons Barry Cormcall 

Song — On ^^ay Morning ililion. 

Song— Phtt'bus Arise Drnmmond. . . . 

Song to iMay Lord Thnrlow 15 

Song— The Lark Hartley Coleridge. 19 

Song — Pack Clouds Away Thomas Heyicood... 20 

Song— See, oh See Lord Bristol 23 



83 
86 
18 
34 

111 
90 

118 
13 
14 



Pure 

Song of the Brook Tennyson 82 

Song of Spring Ed^card Yovl 89 

Song — The Greenwood Tree Shakespeare 58 

Song of Wood Nymphs Barry Cormcall . . . CO 

Song of the Summer Winds. . . George Barley 79 

Sons; — The Owl I /7t^„„,„„„, -,,„. 

Second Song-To the Same. .. . f ^ennvson 20b 

Sonnet — Autumn Moon Thnrlow 105 

Sonnet — To a Bird that haunted ) m,.^,„,„,„ i,,-, 

the Waters of Lake Laakcn. . j" ^^^rlow 113 

Spice Tree John Sterling. 72 

Spring Anaoreon 18 

Spring Beaumont & Fletcher 15 

Spring Tennyson 11 

Storm' Song Bayard Taylor 82 

Stormy Petrel Barry Cornwall. . . si 

Summer Longings McCarthy 15 

Summer Months jrothencell 17 

Summer Woods Mart/ Hoxoiti 68 

Ti2;er WilliamBlakc 73 

'Tis the Last Rose of Summer.. Moore 94 

Trailins Arbutus Pose Terry 86 

Twilight Lonnfelloxc 82 

Useful Plough Anonymous 

Violets Herrick 

Violets W. W.Story... 

Voice of the Grass Sarah Roberts. 

Wandering Wind Mrs. Hemans . . 

Waterfowl Bn/ani 

Water ! The Water 3f6thencell 81 

West Wind, Ode to Shelley 80 

Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea... A. Cunningham .... 92 

AVhen the Hounds of Spi-ing.... Swinh'iirne 11 

Wild Honeysuckle Philip Ereneau 41 

Willow SoncT Jfrs. Hemans 67 

Windy Night T. B. Read HO 

Winter Son? Hvlty 112 

Woods in Winter Lonnfellotc 110 

Yarrow Unvisited Wordsworth 87 

Yarrow Visited Wordsworth 8> 

Yarrow Revisited Wordsxcorih S9 



P O E 31 S OF CHILDHOOD, 



Adopted Child 

I Angel's Whisper 

Annie in the Graveyai'd 

Baby May 

Baby's Shoes 

Ballad of the Tempest 

! Boyhood 

CasaWappv 

I Child and the Watcher 

i Child Asleep 

' Childhood 

Child in the Wilderness 

Child Praying 

Children 

Children in the Wood 

Children's 3 lour 

Choosing a Name 

I ChristcJiing 

Danile 

Fairy Cliild 

For Charlie's Sake 

Gambols of Children 

, Gipsy's .Malison 

Her KycK are Wild , 

Idle Sbejiherd Boys 

I RcmeniT.er, I Remember. .. 
; ■> Kitten and Falling Leaves.... 
i Lady Ann Bothwell's Lament 

! Little Bell 

I LittK' 1','aek Boy 

I Little JU.y Blue 

, Little Children 

; Little Red Riding Hood 

Loss apd Gain ., 

Lucy 

Lucy Gray 



Mrs. Hemans 153 

S. Lorer 122 

Mrs. Gilman 158 

W. a Bennett 119 

W. C.Bennett 164 

J. T. Fields 158 

W. Allstnn 152 

D. M. Moir 169 

Mrs. Broirn ing 122 

Marhime deSurville12<i 

C. Lamh 156 

Coleridge 124 

R.A. Willmoti..... 160 

Landor 130 

Anonymous 149 

Longfelloic 155 

M. Lamh 120 

C. Lamh 120 

Simonides 1,52 

John. Anjfter 127 

J. W. Palmer 171 

G. Parley 138 

C. Lamb 125 

Wordsicorth 152 

Word.Hicorih 136 

flood 156 

Word.sicorth 123 

Anonymous 151 

T. We.itioood 1.58 

Tr. Blake 159 

.Anonymous 187 

Mary Howiif 185 

L.E. Landon 188 

J\''ora Perry 171 

Wordsworth 1 61 

Wurdsa-orih lf)4 



Lullaby Te.nny,^on 119 

Morning Glory Mrs. Lowell 168 

Mother's Heiirt Mrs. Norton 181 

Mother's Hope L. Blanchard 181 

Mother's Love T. Burbidge 138 

My Child J. Pierpont 170 

Mj- Playmates Anonymous 1 62 

On a Distant Prospect of Eton. . G-ray . . . 14S 

On the Death of an Infant P. Smits 161 

On the Picture of an Infant Leonidas 125 

Open Window Longfellow 163 

Pet Lamb Woi-dsworth 133 

Philip, my Kins P. M. Mulock 121 

Pied Piper of Hamelin It Browning 189 

Reconciliation Tennyson 172 

Saturday Afternoon Willis 143 

Schoolmistress Shenstone 144 

She Came and AVent Lowell 168 

Shepherd Bov L. E Landon 187 

Three Sons.." J. 3foultiie 164 

Threnody Emerson 166 

To a Child Liood 325 



To a Child 

ToaChild 

To a Child durins Sickness. . . 

To a Sleeping Child 

To Fcrdin.and Seymour 

To George M 

To H. C Wordsworth 

To J. H X. Lfunt 



J. Sterling 180 

Anonymous. 160 

L. Hunt 127 

J. Wilson 12S 

Mrs. Norton 121 

T. Miller 182 

12^ 
126 



To my Daujrhter Ifood 18.") 

Under mv Window T. Westwood 1 56 

Visit from St. Nicholas C. C. Moore 1 42 

We are Seven WordsicortTf. 157 

Wi<low and Child 7'ennvson 172 

Willie Winkle W. 3LitUr 1-iO 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP, 



And doth not a Meeting like this 

AtUd Lancr Sync 

Ballad of Bouillabaisse 

Cape Cottage at Sunset 

Champagne Eoso 

Christmas 

Como, Send round the Wine. . . . 

Early Friendship 

Farewell 1 But whenever. 

Fill the Bumper Fair 

Fire of Drift- Wood 

Friend of my Soul 

From " In Sicmoriam." 

Give me the Old 

How Stands the Glass Around.. 

.Taffar 

Journey Onwards 



P.'iire 

Moore ISO 

Bunm 102 

Thackeray 1S9 

W. B. Glazier 1S2 

J. Kenyon 1S5 

Wither 195 

Moore 1ST 

De Vere 175 

Moore 183 

Moore 1S6 

Lonqfelloio ISl 

Moore 18S 

Ten nyson 178 

li. IT. 3Iessinger.... 184 

Anoni/mous 187 

I.eiqh Hunt 180 

JSoore 194 



Mahogany Tree 

NiirhtatSea 

Oh Fill the Wino-cup High 

Old Familiar Faces 

Passage 

Qua Cursum Ventus 

Saint Peray 

Sonnets 

Sparkling and Bright 

Stanzas to Augusta 

To 

To Thomas Moore 

We have heen Friends Together 

What mit'ht be Done 

When shall We Three Meet { 

Again j 

Wreathe the Bowl 



T/inekeray 194 

L.E.Lanilnn 192 

i?. F. Williams.... 190 

C. Lamb 1S2 

Vhlancl ISO 

A. n. Clonrih ISl 

T. W. Parsons 19] 

Shalcesipeare 175 

C.F.IIofman 184 

Byron 1S3 

n. W. Spencer 183 

Byron ISS 

Mrx. Xorlon 183 

C.Macl-ay 196 

Anonymous 175 

Moore 183 



POEMS OF LOVE 



Absence Mrs. Kemhle 277 

Address to a Lady Burns 262 

Ah 1 How Sweet it is to Love. . . Dry den 252 

Allan Percy Mrs. Norton 813 

Annabel Lee E. A. Poe 815 

Annie Laurie Anonytnous 262 

Annoyer A''. P. Willis 283 

Ask me no more Tennyson 290 

At the Church Gate Thackeray 270 

Auld Eobin Gray Lady A. Barnard . 800 

Aux Italiens P. B. Lytton 817 

Awakening of Endymion L. E. Landon 875 

Ballad— It was not "in the Winter Jfood 272 

Ballad— Sigh on, Sad Heart Rood 287 

Beauty Clear and Fair. Beaumont & Fletcher 246 

Bertha in the Lane Mrs. Browning 807 

Blest as the Immortal Gods Sappho 257 

]51issful Day Bitrn.^ 834 

Bonnie Leslie Burns 263 

Bridal of Audalla Anonymous 226 

Bridal Song Milman 824 

Brook-side Milnes 272 

Burial ofLove Bryant 822 

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes. . Burns 260 

Canzonet T. Watson 249 

Castara LTahington 248 

Changes P. B. Lytton 813 

Cheat" of Cupid Aitacreon 281 

Chronicle Oou^ley 278 

Come Away, Death Shal-esjieare 253 

Come into the Garden, >raud Ten nyson 203 

Coming Through the Eye Anonymous 2S4 

Crabbed Age and Youth Shakespeare 279 

Cupid and Carapaspe J. I^yly 245 

Day-dream Tennyson 227 

Deceitfulness of Love Anonymous 281 

Discourse with Cupid Ben jonson 245 

Disdain Eeturned T. Carev) 250 

Dream Bi/ron 2S8 

Earnest Suit Sir T. Wyat 244 

Epithalamion Spenser 324 

Epithalamium Brainard 830 

Eve of St. Agnes Keals 220 

Evclj'n Hope P. Broicn ing 316 

Excuse M.Arnold 812 

Excmiics T.Stanley 254 

Fair Ines Hood 263 

Fairest Thing in Mortal Eyes. . . Charles of Orleans. 823 

Farewell to Nancy Burns 260 

Fireside N. Cotton 882 

Florence Vane P. P. Cooke 814 



Fly not yet Moore 

Fly to the Desert Moore 

Forsaken Merman M. Arnold 

Friar of Orders Gray Bisliop Percy 

Girl of Cadiz Byron 

Go where Glory Waits Thee Moore 

Groomsman to his Mistress Parsons 

Health E. O. Pinkney 

Hear, ye Ladies Be arimoni & Fletcher 

Here's a Health Burns 

Hermit Goldsmith 

Highland Mary Burns 

If I Desire with Pleasant Songs . T. Burbidge 

IfthouwertbymySide,myLove Heber 

In a Year K. Broicning 

Indifference M.Arnold 

Irish Melody P. F. M'Carty. 

It might have been W. C. Williamson . 

Jeanie Morrison Motherii:ell 

Jenny Kissed Me L. Hunt 

Jock of Hazeldean Sir W.Scott 

John Anderson •; Burns 

Kulnasatz, my Eelndeer Anonymous 

Lady Clare Tennyson 

Laodamia Wordsiooi'th 

Lass of Ballochmyle Bums 

Letters Tennyson 

Lines to an Indian Air Shelley 

Lochinvar Sir W. Scott 

Locksley Hall Tennyson 

Lord Lovel Anonymous 

Love Coleridge 

Love in the "Valley G. Meredith 

Love is a Sickness Daniel 

Love Not J//'*. N(»ion 

Love Not Me Anonymous 

Love Song G. Parley 

Love Unrequited Anonymous 

Lovely Mary Donnelly AUingham 

Lover to the Glow-worms Man'ell 

Love's Last Messages T. L. Beddoes 

Love's Philosophy Shelley 

Maid of Athens, ere we Part Byron 

Maiden's Choice Anonymous 

Maid's Lament Landor 

Mariana in the South Tennysooi 293 

Maud Muller WhUiier 805 

Milk-maid's Song Marlowe 254 

Milk-maid's Mother's Answer. .. Sir W. Paleigh 254 

Miller's Daughter Tennyson ?7!t- 

Minstrel's Song Chatierton ^A 



2S0 
264 
810 
213 
259 
264 
277 
273 
246 
200 
216 
810 
252 
831 
292 
812 
266 
291 
303 
2SG 
238 
384 
257 
286 
819 
261 
237 
2.'i7 
234 
295 
210 
229 
235 
243 
823 
253 
274 
286 
265 
247 
822 
25S 
258 
280 
2S0 



INDEX. 



Misconceptions 

]\rrs. Eliz. Wliccler 

Mdlly Carew 

My Dear and Only Love 

My Heid is like to rend, Willie. 

My Love 

My Love has Talked 

My "Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing 

Niiiht-Picce 

Not Ours the Vows 

Nun 

Ntit-brown Maid 

Of a' the Airts the Wind can Blaw 

Oh. Saw ve the Lass 

Oh, Tell me. Love 

Oh. that 'twere possible 

Old Story 

One way of Love 

Orpheus to Beasts 

Paiit'lory's Wooing Song 

Phillida and Corydon 

Philomela''s Ode .' 

Poet'6 Bridal-Day Song 

Poet's Song to his Wife 

Portrait 

Bed, Red Eose 

Bohin Huod and Allen-a-dale. . . 

Bory O'More 

Bosalie 

Eose and the Gauntlet 

Buth 

Seaman's Happy Eetum 

Serenade 

Serenade 

Serrana 

ShalllTell 

She is a Maid of Artless Grace. . 

Shepherd's Resolution 

Sir Cauline 

Song— A Weary Lot 

Sons — Ask me no more 

Song — Day in Melting Puri)le. . . 

Song — Gather ye Eosc-buds 

Song — How Delicious 

Song — Love me if I Live 

Song— Jfy Silks and Fine Ari'ay. 

Song — Sing the Old Song 

Song— The Heath this Night.... 

Song — To thy Lover 

Bong — Why so Pale 

Sonnet — I know that all 

Sonnet— If it be True 



Pncre 

i?. Broicning 28T 

Ilen-ick 24Y 

Lover- 284 

3fonfrose 255 

Motherwell 803 

Loicell 271 

Tennyson 830 

Bu7-ns 881 

Her rick 249 

B. Barton 880 

L. Hunt 279 

Anonymous 204 

Burns 261 

B. Ryan 263 

Anonymovs 272 

Tennyson 800 

Anonymous 282 

B. Broicning 2ST 

Lovelace 299 

G. Fletcher 248 

N. Breton 243 

B. Greene 252 

A. Cunningliam.... 8.33 
Barry Cormcall. . . 334 

Anacreon 273 

Burns 261 

Anonymous 211 

Lover 283 

W.AlMon 274 

J. Sterling. 304 

flood 269 

AriMt ym ous 21 9 

Uood 270 

B. 0. Pinckney. 270 

Lope de Meniloza.. 230 

W. Byovne 246 

Gil Vicente 270 

Wither 280 

Anonymovs 199 

Sir W.Scott 294 

Carew 252 

Maria Brooks 276 

Herrick, 824 

Camphell 278 

Barry Cornwall .. . 266 

W.Blake 812 

Be Vere 275 

Sir W. Scott 259 

Crasliaio 251 

Sir J. Suckling.... 251 

Drumn\ond 241 

Michael Angelo 241 



Pnire 

Sonnet— Since There's no Help. Drayton 286 

Sonnet — The Doubt which ye | 

Misdeem j 

Sonnet — The Might of one Fair 



Spenser 823 



*'racer. !" .°'. !*."! .Z ( ^^^'^^'"'^ ^"'J'^^- 



258 



Michael Angelo. . 
Wordsworth 



241 
801 
238 



Motherivell 801 



Sonnet — To Tittoria Colonna. . 
Sonnet- Why art Thou Silent. 

Sonnets Shakespeare 

Sonnets Sir P. Sidney 240 

Sonnets from the Portuguese.. . 3lrs. Browning.... 242 

Spanish Lady's Love Anonymous 215 

Speak, Love Beavmont ifi Fletcher 246 

Spinning-wheel Song J. F. Waller 231 

Stanzas Byron .• 286 

Stanzas for Music Byron 260 

Summer Days Anonymous 269 

Superstition Ji JTorris 251 

Sweet William's Farewell Gay 21 S 

Sylvia G. Barley 274 

Take, Oh Take those Lips Awuy Shakespeare 

and J. Fletcher.. 274 
The Bloom hath Fled thy ) 

Cheek, Mary j 

The Dale's i' this Bonnet o' Mine JE Wavgh 2S2 

Then BoseTerry 810 

Thou hast Vowed by thy Faith. A.Cunningham..... 262 

To Shelley 2.58 

To Wordsworth 272 

To Althea — From Prison T^ovelace 250 

To Cclia Philostratiis 245 

To Lucasta Lovelace 249 

To Lucasta L-ovelace 250 

To Mary in Heaven Burns 317 

ToSarah Brake 838 

Tomb T.Stanley 263 

Too Late 1). M. Mulock 819 

Triumph of Charis Ben Jonson. 244 

Truth's Integrity Anonymous 212 

Waly, Waly Anoitymous 802 

Watch Song Anonymous 2.32 

We Parted in Silence 3Irs. Crawford 292 

Welcome Thomas jjatis 267 

Welcome, Welcome W.Browne 256 

Were I but his own Wife Mary Bouning... . 267 

When we Two Parted Byron 2S1 

White Eose Anonymous 244 

Widow Machree Lover 285 

Winifreda Anonymous 828 

Wish Bogers 881 

You Meaner Beauties Wotton 247 

Youag Beichan and Susie Pye. . Anowymotis 208 

Zara's Ear-rings Anonymous 280 



P O E ^I S OF AMBITION 



'■^ 



American Flag Brake 379 

Ballad of Agiucourt M. Drayton 852 

Bannock-Burn Bnrns 855 

Barbara Frietchie Whittier 881 

Battle-Ficld Bryant 380 

Battle of the Baltic Camphcll 885 

Black Eegimcnt G. IL Boker 382 

Boadicoa Cowper 346 

Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee Sir W. Scott 868 

Border Ballad Sir W. Scott 869 

Broadswords of Scotland J. G. Lockhart 271 

Bull-Fight of Gazul Anonymous 871 

Cameronian's Dream J. LJyslop 863 

Carmen Bellicosum G. LI. McMaster . . . 377 

( asabianca Mrs. IJemans 387 

Cavalier's Son^j Motherwell 853 

'^" Bafakkva.' ^.'f .^. ^T.^.' !"! [ Tennyson 884 

Charlie is my Dai'ling Anonymous 366 

Chevy Chase Anonymous 849 

Covenanter's Battle-Chant Motherwell 361 

Destruction of Sennacherib Byron .- 344 

Excelsior Longfelloic .392 

Oiillant Grahams Anonymovs 866 



Give a Eouse 

God Save the King 

Hame, Hame, Hame 

Harmodious and Aristogoiton... 
Harp that once through Tara's ( 

Halls f 

Here's a Health to them that's I 

awa' ( 

Here's to the King, Sir 

Hohenlinden 

Horatian Ode 

Horatius 

How they Brought the Good ) 

News from Ghent to Aix. . . f 
Incident of the French Camp. . . 

Indian Death-Song 

Indian Death-Song 

1 1 is Great for our Country to Die 

Iviy 

Kenmnre's On and Awa' 

Landing of the Pilgwm Fathers. 

Leonidas 

Lochabcr No More 

Lochiel's Warninff 



B. Broicning 856 

Anonymous 878 

A. Cunningham. .. 870 
Callistratus 345 

Moore 872 

Burns 867 

AnoniimouH 865 

Campbell 383 

Marvell 858 

Macaiday 837 

B. Browning 873 

B. Browning 383 

Anne Hunter 375 

Schiller 375 

Percival 345 

Macaulay. 855 

Bums 86G 

ifrs. Llemans 376 

Croly 346 

Allan Ramsay 865 

Camplell 867 



INDEX. 



!MaiTO Bozzaris 

AUinory of the Dead. . . 

IMouterey 

ISI V Aiii Countreo 



( ) >rother of a Migbty Eaco 

Ode— How Sleep the Brave 

Ode — What Coustitutos a State 

On a Bust of Dante 

On a Sermon against Glory 

On Planting Arts and Learn- ) 

int' in America | 

Our State 

Peace to tbe Slumberers 



Vase 

millech 389 

J. K. Ingram. 390 

C.F. Ifoffman 381 

A. CuntiinylMm.. . 371 

Macaiday 357 

Bryant 379 

Collins 372 

Sir W.Jones 391 

T. W. Pars(ms 392 

AA-enside 892 

Berkeley 876 

WJiiUier 3S0 

Moore 372 



Pasa 

Pericles and Aspasia G. Croly 34(5 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Sir W. 'Scott 309 

Prince Eugene . Anonymous ZTA 

Sea Figbt." Anonymous 3SG 

Shan Van Vocht Anonymous 372 

Sonnets 3lilton 360 

Sonnets Wordsworth 391 

Song Moore 871 

Song of Marion's Men Bryant 377 

Sons of tbe Greek Poet Byron 3sS 

Star-Spansled Banner F. S. Key 378 

Waes me for Prince Charlie II' Olen 370 

When Banners are Waving Anonymous 8G1 

Ye Mariners of England Campbell 3S4 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Battle of Limerick 

Cologne 

Devil's Thoughts 

Diverting History of John Gilpin 

Dragon of Wantley . 

Elesy on tbe Death of a Mad I 

Dog j 

Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize 

]'>senee of Opera 

Faithless Nelly Gray 

Faithless Sally Brown 

Farewell to Tobacco 

Friend of Humanity and I 

Knife-Grindcr ) 

Good Ale 

Groves of Blarney 

Hag 

Heir of Linno 

Hyiioehcndi-iacus 

Irishman 

Jovial Beggar 

Lady at Sea 



Thackeray 436 

Coleridge 423 

Coleridge 423 

Cfficper 416 

Anonymous 400 

Goldsmith 405 

Goldsmith 419 

Anonymous 426 

Hood 429 

Hood 480 

C.Lamb 427 

Q. Canning 425 

J. Still 401 

a. A. Milliken 4.35 

Ilerrick 424 

Anonymous 397 

a Lamb 427 

W. Maginn 485 

Anonymous 401 

Hood 481 



Malbrook 

Massacre of the Macpherson. . . . 
Mr. Molony's Account of the I 

Ball f 

Molony's Lament 

Old and Young Courtier 

Pvail 

Eape of tbe Lock 

Keceipt for Salad 

St. Anthony's Sermon to the I 

Fishes ) 

St. Patrick of Ireland, my Dear. 
St. Patrick was a Gentleman. . . . 

Sir Sidney Smith 

Song of One Eleven Years in (^ 

Prison j 

Take thy Old Cloake about Thee 

Tarn O'Shanter 

Twenty-eight and Twenty-nine . 

Vicar.". 

Vicar of Bray 

White Squall 



Anonymous 40S 

W.KAytoun 420 

Tliackeray 42S 

Thackeray 437 

Anonymous 404 

G. U. Clark. 439 

Pope 406 

Sydney Smith 426 

Anonymous 440 

W. Maginn 434 

H. Bennett 483 

T.Dibdin 419 

G. Canning 425 

A7ionymous 402 

Burns 421 

W.3I.Praed 443 

W.BLPraed 442 

Anonymoxis 441 

Thackeray. 431 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Bonnie George Campbe . . . Anmiymous 

Braes of Yarrow . , . William Hainilton. 

Break, Break, Break . Tennyson 

Bridal Dirge Barry Cornwall.. , 

Bridal Song and Dirge T. L. Beddoes 

Bridge of Sighs JTood 

Burial of Sir John Moore Charles Wolfe 

Calm is the Night ITenry Heine 

Castle by tbe Sea Vhland 

Child Noryce Anonymous 

Coronach Sir W. Scott 

Cruel Sister Anoni/mous 

Death-Bed Hood'. 

Death-Bed J. Aldrich 

Dirge Tennyson 

Dirge...., W. S. Itoscoe 

Dirge T. L. Beddoes 

Dirgo C. G. Eastma7i 

Dirge Mrs. Hemana 

Dirge for a Young Girl J. T. Fields 

Dirge in Cymbeline Collins 

!I)irgo of Imogen Shakespeare 

Dirge of Jepbthah's Daughter. . Hcrrick, 

Dowie Dens of Yarrow Anonymous 

I)ream of Eugene Aram Hood 

ICdward, EdM'ard Anonymous 

Elegy on Captain Henderson . .. Burns 



Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H 

Fair Annie of Lochroyan 

Fair Helen 

Fishermen 

Fishing Song." 

Funeral Hymn 

Gano werebut the Winter Cauld 

Hester....". 

How's my Liy? 

Hunter's Vision 

Ichabnd 

Inchcape Rock 

In Ttemembrance of the Hon. ) 

Edward Ernest Villiers ) 

Iphigenia and Agamemnon 

King of Denmark's Bide 

Lament 

Lament 

Lament of the Irish Emigrant. . 
Lament of the Border Widow... 

Lamentation for Celin 

Last Journey 

Lord Kaiidai 

Lord Ulliu's Daughter 

Lost Leader 

Lycidas 

Mariner's Dream 



Ben Jon son 51 5 

Anonymous.. 449 

Anonymo7is 4.')9 

C. Kingsley 475 

Hose terry 524 I 

D.MaUett 508 I 

A. Cunningham,... 509 ! 

C.Lamb 503 

SBobell 4S5 

Bryant 491 > 

Widiiier 515 

Southey 4S2 

Henry Taylor 50fi 

Landor 472 

Mrs. Korton 4S0 

Shelley 521 

Shelley .. 521 

Lady Duffer in 497 

Anonymous. 45S 

Anonymous 473 

dfrs. Southey 501 

A nonymons 456 

Campbell 4Sl 

Broicning 516 

3Hlton 504 

W.Bimund.. 4iM 



JFay Queen 

Mother and Poet 

Mother's Last Song 

Nymph Complaining for the I 

Death of her Fawn j" 

Oh ! Breathe not his Name 

Oh ! Snatched away 

On the Death of "George the I 

Third ( 

On the Funeral of Charles the ) 

First f 

On the Loss of the r,03-al George 

Pauper's Death-bed '.. 

Paujier's Drive 

Peace ! "What do Tears Avail ?. . . 

Phantom 

Poet's Epitaph 

Prisoner of C'hillon 

Piare Willy Drowned in Tarrow 
Sea 



Tenni/Kon "lOi 

Mrs. Brotcning 5'2'2 

Barry Cornv:all ., . 499 

Marvell 496 

Moore 509 

Byron 509 

11. Smith 517 



W. L. Boicles 51G 

Coicper 482 

M)'s. Southey 500 

T. Noel 502 

Barry Cornwall... 503 
Baydrcl Taylor.... 514 

K Elliott 520 

Byron 4T6 

Anoiu/moiis 453 

H. IT.' Stoddard.... 4S0 



Sir Patrick Spens 

Snow-Storm 

Softly Woo Away her Breath. . . 

Sohrab and Kustum 

Solitude 

Song — O Mary, go 

Song — Yarrow Stream 

Song of the Shirt 

Song of the Silent Land 

Stanzas to the Memory of ) 

Tliomas Hood j 

The Moon was a-waning 

Tom Bowling 

Twa Brothers 

Twa Corbies 

Very Mournful Ballad 

Warden of the Cinque Ports 

When I Beneath 

Wreck of the Hesperus 

Young Airly 



Paee 

Anonymous 447 

a G.Ea.timan 490 

Bai'ry Cornwall... 491 

M. Arnold 460 

IT. K. White 521 

C. Kinf/sley 459 

J. Logan 454 

Hood 499 

Salis 500 

B. Simmons 519 

J. IToqo 4SG 

C. Dihdin 4SG 

Anonymous 457 

Anonymous 453 

Anonymous 474 

Lonofellmo 518 

Mothericell 520 

Lonqfellow 483 

Anonymous 489 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION", 



Ariel's Songs SJiakespeare . 

Comas Milton. 



552 
556 

CulpritFay J. li. Drake 542 

Djinns Victor Hugo 589 

Fairies W. Allingham 550 

Fairies' Farewell li. Corlntt 550 

Fairies of the Caldon Low Mainj Iloicitt 541 

Fairies' Song Anonymous 635 

Fairy Queen Anonymous 584 

Fairy Song Keats 585 



Fairy Thorn Ferguson 

Green Gnome li. B^iclianan . . . 

Ilylas Bayard Taylor. 

Kilmeny Hogg 

King Arthur's Death Anonymous 

KuTila Khan Coleridge 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci Keats 

Lady of Shallott Tennyson 



5ST 
551 
569 
537 
529 
584 
536 
554 



Legend of the Stepmother 

Lorelei 

Merrv Pranks of Eobin Good- ) 

Fellow f 

Midniffht IJeview 

Oh ! Where do Fairies Hide { 

their Heads? j 

Paven 

Bhcecns 

Pdme of the Ancient Mariner. . . 
Song — A Lake and a Fairy-boat. 

Song — Hear, Sweet Spirit 

Song of Fairies 

Song of the Fairy 

Thomas, the Ehymer 

Water Fay 

Water Lady 

Wee, Wee Man 



B.Buchanan 588 

II. Heine 563 

Anonymous 583 

Zedlitz 574 

T.H. Bayly 542 

Poe 584 

Lowell 572 

Coleridge 575 

Hood 654 

Coleridge 652 

Randolph 636 

Shakespeare 585 

Anonymous 531 

H Heine 553 

Hood 553 

Anonymous 532 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION, 



Abou Ben Adhem 

Address to the Mummy at ) 

Belzoni's Kxhibition j 

.\gc of Wisdom 

.Mfxandor's Feast 

All Karthly Joy Eetnrns in Pain 

Allegro. L' 

An Old Poet to Sleep 

Angel in the House 

Arranniore 

Arsenal at Springfield 

J'acchus 

Balder 

Barclay of Tj ry 

Battle 'of Blenheim 

P)e Patient 

Bells 

Bells of Shandon 

Bucket 

Burns 

Burns, At the Grave of 

Canadian Boat Song 

Charade 

Contented Mind 

Contemplate all this Work 

Cotter's Saturday Xight 



L. Hunt 599 

Horace Smith 597 

Thackeray 688 

Dryden 623 

William Dunbar.. 593 

Milton 661 

ir. S. Landor 720 

L. Iltint 723 

Moore 701 

Longfellovi 605 

Emerson 679 

Anonymous 5!!6 

Whiiiier 594 

Southey 604 

Anonymous 704 

E.A. Poe G21 

F. Mahony 020 

S. Wood worth 606 

WhiHier 6.")3 

Wordsicortli C.51 

Moore 629 

Praed C56 

J. Sylvester 6(i5 

7'('nnyson 7o2 

Burns 707 



Cowper's Grave 

Crowded Street 

Death of the Virtuous 

Death's Final Conquest 

De.iection — An Ode 

Delight in Disorder 

Deserted Village 

Each and All 

Egyptian Serenade 

Elegy wiitten in a Country i 

Church-Yard j 

End of the Piny 

Epitaph on the admir.able Dra- l_ 

matic Poet, W. Shakespeare, j 

Exhortation 

Fisher's Cottage 

Footsteps of Angels 

Forging of the Anchor 

Fountain 

Garden of Love 

Good-Bye 

Good Great Man 

Grave of a Poetess 

Greenwood Shrift 

Guy 

Hallowed Ground 



3Tr8. Brotcning 645 

BryoAit 676 

Mrs. Barhauld. . . . 781 

J. Shirley 713 

Coleridge C86 

Herri ck 630 

Goldsmith 614 

Emerson 705 

Cf. W. Curtis 629 

Gray 731 

Thackeray C91 

3Iilton 638 

Shelley €60 

Heine 598 

Longfellow 726 

/S. Ferguson 602 

Wordsrrorth 676 

W. Blake 706 

Fmerson 677 

Coleridge 697 

Th omas Miller. .... 6.55 
B. <& C. Southey.... 721 

Emerson 675 

Campbell 710 



INDEX. 



xiu 



Page 

ITappv Life Wotton 711 

Happy Valley T. Miller 700 

Harmosan It C. Trench 595 

Heavenly Wisdom J. Jj>qnn 713 

Hebe Lowell 680 

Hence all you Vain Delights. . .Beaumont <& Fletcher 6S5 

Hcrinione Barrp Cormoall. . . 0:32 

Hermit Beattie 718 

Honest Poverty Bui'ns 702 

Human Frailty Cowper 697 

Hymn to Intellectual Beauty... Shelley 673 

Hymn of the Church-Yard J. Bethune 728 

I .im a Friar of Orders Gray J. U'Keefe 6S8 

If that were True Frances Broicn. . . . 703 

Influence of Music Shakespeare 625 

Is it Come? Frances Broicn 703 

King Death Barry Cornwall. . . 722 

Kins Robert of Sicily Lonafelloio 724 

Last Leaf. O. W. Eolmes 6S9 

Life Barry Cornwall. . . 723 

Life II.Klng 727 

Life and Death Anonymous 720 

Light of Stars Lonfffelloio 716 

Lines on a Skeleton Anonymous 72S 

Lines on the Mermaid Tavern.. Keats 689 

Lords of Thule Anonymous 593 

Losses Frances Brown.... 696 

Lost Church Uhlancl 706 

Lye, The Anonymous 666 

Man G.Eerhert 712 

Man's Mortality S. Wastell 727 

Means to attain Happy Life lord Surrey. 661 

Memory Landor. 690 

^Minstrel Goethe 657 

Mother Margery G.S.Burleigh 636 

Music W.Strode 625 

Mutability Shelley 694 

" My Days among the Dead." . .. Southey 723 

My Mind to me a Kingdom is. .. W. Byrd 6G9 

Nisht Eabington 716 

No" More A. 11. Clough.. .... 694 

Nymph's Song Wither 637 

Ode— Bards of Passion Keats 656 

^laFt?."!"^".!'!' . ?.'^. ^^'!^'!'.'. \ Wordsioorth 713 

Ode — To Himself Ben Jonson 640 

Ode on a Grecian Urn Keats 660 

Ode to Beauty Emerson 671 

Ode to Duty Wordsicorth 695 

Oh the Pleasant Days of Old.. Frances Broicn.... 699 

Old Maid 3frs. Welby 635 

On a Lady Singing T. W. Parsons. .... 628 

On Anacreon Antipatcr 688 

On Chapman's Homer. Keats 654 

On the Deatii of Bm-ns W. JRoscoe 650 

%\clu?e?'?' ''!!^l^°^'^f^. \ <^°''P'^ 607 

One Gray Hair Landor 6S9 

Over the PlI vcr Kancy A. W. Priest 730 

Passions — An Ode Collins 625 

Penseroso, 1! Jlilton 663 

Petition to Time Barry Cormcall.. . 693 

Poet's Thought Barry Cornwall... 657 

Poor Man's Song .' Anonymous 679 

Problem Emerson 707 

Proud Malsie is in the Wood. . . Sir W. Scott 633 

Psalm of Life Lonafelloio 722 

IJeply J. Sforris 605 

Resolution and Independence... Wordsworth 65S 

Bobin Hood Keats 698 

Seed-Tirae and Harvest Whittier 713 

Shakespeare J. Sterling 639 

Sho Walks in Beauty Byron 631 

" She was a Phantom of Delight." Wordsworth 634 

Shepherd's Hnnting Wither 640 



Sir Marmaduke 

Sit Down, Sad Soul 

Slave Singing at Midnight 

Sleep 

Sleep, The 

Smoking Spiritualized 

Soldier's Dream 

Solitary Reaper 

Song — Down lay in a Nook 

Song — O Lady, Leave 

Song — Oh say not that my Heart 
Song — Barely, Barely comest ) 

Thou J 

Song— Still to be Neat 

Song — Sweet are the Thoughts. . 
Song— Time is a Feathered I 

Thing f 

Song — What Pleasures ' have ( 

Great Princes ) 

Song of the Forge 

Sonnet— Of Mortal Glory 

Sonnet — Sad is our Youth 

Sonnet — The Nightingale is I 

Mute S 

Sonnet — 'Tis much immortal (^ 

Beauty j 

Sonnet — Who Best can Paint. . . 

Sonnets 

Sonnets 

Soul's Defiance 

Stanzas— My life is like a I 

Summer Kose ( 

Stanzas— Thought is Deeper 

Steamboat 

Strife 

Sunken City 

Sweet is the Pleasm-e 

Sweet Pastoral 

Tables Turned 

Temperauce ; or the Cheap I 

Physician ) 

Thanatopsis 

The Sturdy Eock, for all his ) 

Strength f 

The Winter being Over 

There are Gains for all our Losses 

There be Those 

Those Evening Bells 

Time's Cure 

To a Highland Gu-l 

To a Lady with a Guitar. 

To Constantia Singing 

To Macaulay 

To Mistress Margaret Hussey.. . 

To my Sister 

ToPerilla , 

To the Lady Margaret 

Traveller 

Two Brides 

Two Oceans 

Uhland 

Upon Julia's Kecovery 

Vanity of Human Wishes 

Versos, supposed to be written ) 

by Alex. Selkirk j 

Victorious Men of Earth 

Village Blacksmith 

Virtue 

Vision, The 

Waiting by the Gate 

White Island 

Who is Sylvia ? 

Why thus Longing? 

Woman's Voice 

World, The 



Pass 

Colman the younger 683 
Barry Cormcall. , . 723 

Longfelloio 719 

J. Botrland 720 

Mrs. Broicning.... 719 

Anonymous C79 

Campbell C04 

Wordsworth 633 

Eenry Taylor. 635 

Hood 633 

C. Wolfe 695 

Shelley 672 

Ben Jonson 030 

i?. Greene 665 

Anonymous. 693 

W.Byrd 660 

Anonymous 601 

Brummond 727 

Axibrey deVere... 693 

Thurlow 655 

Thurloio 030 

Tlhurloic 655 

Brummond 670 

Ifilton 697 

Lavinia Stoddard. 693 

B.E. Wilde 694 

C. P. Cranch 674 

O. W. Eolmes 600 

Tennyson 718 

MiUler 677 

J. 8. Bwight 674 

N.Breton 671 

Wordaicorth 675 

Crashaic 678 

Bnjant 729 

Anonymous 717 

Ann Collins 070 

B.E.Stoddard.... 693 

B. Barton 705 

Moore 622 

Anonymous 692 

Viordsworth 632 

Shelley 627 

Shelley "... 623 

iMndor 656 

Skelton 631 

WhiUier 634 

Eerrick 6S9 

Daniel 607 

Goldsmith 603 

B.E.Stoddard.... 634 

J. Sterling 698 

W. A. Butler 654 

Eerrick 632 

Samuel Johnson . . . 680 

Cowper 599 

J. Shirley 605 

Longfellow 600 

G. ilerbert 717 

Burns 617 

Bryant 690 

Eerrick 699 

S/iakespeare 631 

Earriet Winsloio... 696 

F. Arnold 629 

Jones Very 704 



POEMS OF KELIGION, 



Paffe 

AllWell n.Bonar 792 

Battle song oiGmta.wxBA.doX^'ha&AUenburg 775 

Bee, The Vmirihan 739 

Call, The IJerhert 751 

Centennial Ode J. Pierpont 774 

Charity J. Montijomery 778 

Charity and Humility Jlenry More 7G9 

Chorus ." Milnian 809 

Christmas ' Tennymn 765 

Christmas Hvmn A. Dommett 765 

Come unto Me Mrs. Barbauld .... 759 

Complaining Herhert 757 

Creator and Creatures Wattn 805 

Darkness is Thinning St. Greqory 7o7 

Dead Christ Mrs. Iloice 764 

Death C. Wesley 784 

Dedication of a Church Drummond 771 

DeliRht in God Only F. Quarles 812 

Desiring to Love C.Wesley 779 

Dirge Croly 784 

Divine Ejaculation J. Quarles SIO 

Divine Love Tersteegen 779 

Dying Christian to his Soul Pope — 781 

EachSorrowful Mourner Prudentius 786 

Early Eising and Praver Vanghan 7-37 

Easter ". Herbert 752 

Easter Hvmn T. Blackburn 752 

Elder Scripture Keble 740 

Emigrants in Bermudas Marvell 767 

Epiphany Heber 746 

"Eternal beam of Light Divine" C.Wesley 761 

Eveninff Anonymous 742 

Example of Christ Watts 759 

Exhortation to Praver Margaret Mercer.. 776 

Fasting '. F. Quarles 76S 

Feast, The Vaughan 756 

Field of the World J. Montgomery. ... 774 

Flower, Tlie Herbert .. 757 

For a Widower or Widow Wither 785 

For Believers C. Wesley 778 

For New-Tear's Day Doddridge 740 

"Friend of All" C. Wesley 762 

Future Peace and Glory of the (^ Cotoner 791 

Church 1 ' ■' 

Gethsemane Joseph Hart 750 

Gethsemane J. Montgomery 751 

God Derzhathi 814 

God in Natm-e Doddridge 740 

God is Love Anonymous 

God's Greatness Breithaupt. 

God, the Everlasting Light of ) Doddridge 787 

the Saints j ^ 

Heaven Jeremy Taylor 791 

Heavenly Canaan Watts 788 

" How Gracious and how Wise " Doddridge SOS 

Humility J- Montgomery.... 770 

Hvmn— Brother, thou art Gone. Milman 783 

Hymn— Drop, drop, slow Tears. P. Fletcher 764 

Hymn — From my Lips in their | 

Defilement ( 

Hymn for Anniversary Mar- I 

riage Days ) 

Hymn from Psalm CXLVIII. . . 
Hymn — How arc thy Servants | 

Blest f 

Hvmn of Praise Tersteegen 794 

H> mn of the Hebrew Maid Sir W. Scott 767 

Hymn— When all Thy Meroies. Addison 804 

Hymn— When Gathering Clonds Sir R. Grant 763 

Hymn — When our Heads Milman 763 

Hynin-When Rising from the j. ^^dison 783 

Hymn— When the An!:cels IT. Breton 777 

I Journey through a Desert.... Anonymous 753 

In a clear, starry Xight Wither 742 

"Is this a Time to Plant audi Tr„i.i„ r—n 

Build" r -^'^^^ "° 

Jesus Nywton 758 



813 



St. Joannes Da- 
mascenus 752 

Wither 770 

Ogili-ie S02 

Addison 804 



" Jesus, Lover of my Soul " 

" Jesus, my Strength " 

" Jesus shall Reign " 

Joy and Peace in Believing 

Laborer's Noon-day Hymn 

Light Shining out of Darkness. . 
Lines on a Celebrated Picture... 

Litany 

Litany to the Holy Spirit 

Little While 

Living by Christ 

Lord, the Good Shepherd 

Mary 

" Mark the soft -falling Snow ". . 

Martyrs' Hymn 

Messiah 

My God, I love Thee 

New Jerusalem 

Ode— The Spacious Firmament. 

Odor 

Oh Fear not thou to Die 

" Oh yet we trust " 

On a Prayer-Book sent to Mrs. I 

M. R f 

On Another's Sorrow 

On the Morning of Christ's I 

Nativity j 

Passion Sunday 

Peace 

Philosopher's Devotion 

Poet's Hymn for Himself 

Praise 

Praise to God 

Prayer, Living and Dj'ing 

Priest, The 

Psalm XIII 

Psalm XVIII 

Psalm XIX 

Psalm XXIII 

Psalm XXIII 

Psalm XXX 

Psalm XLVI 

Psalm XLVI 

Psalm LXV 

Psalm LXVI 

Psalm LXXII 

Psalm XCII 

Psalm C 

Psalm CXVII 

Psalm CXXX 

Psalm CXLVIII 

Reign of Christ on Earth 

Resignation 

Search after God 

Sonnet — In the Desert 

Sonnet — The Prayers I make. . . 

Sonnets 

Spirit Land 

Stranger and his Friend 

St. Peter's Day 

They are all gone 

Thou art gone to the Grave 

"Thou, God, seest Me" 

" Thou, (Jod. unsearchable " 

Time past. Time passing. Time ) 

to come .f 

To keep a true Lent 

True use of Music 

Twetflh Day, or the Epiphany.. 

Universal Prayer 

Valediction 

Veni, Creator 

Walking with God 

Watchman's Report 

Weeping Mary 

What isPrayer ? 

Wilderness Transformed 

Wrestling Jacob 



Tuge 

C. Wesley 700 

O. Wesley 7G0 

Watts 749 

Cowper 773 

Wordsworth 767 

Co^oper 805 

O.Lamb 748 

Sir R. Grant 762 

Herrick 780 

Bonar 787 

Crerhard 761 

J. Montgomery 794 

Tennyson 777 

Doddridge 741 

Luther 775 

Pope 747 

St. Fran. Xavier. . . 753 

Anonymous 788 

Addison 741 

Herbert 755 

Anonymous 780 

Tennyson 776 

B. Crashaw 772 

W.Blalce 807 

Milton 743 

Fortunatus 750 

Vavglian 791 

Henry More 7^59 

Wither 795 

Wither 795 

Mrs. Barbauld 793 

Tojjlady 758 

N. Breton 771 

Davison 796 

Sternhold 790 

Watts 797 

Davison 797 

Merrick 798 

Davison 798 

Watts 799 

Luther 799 

Watts 800 

Sandys 800 

Watts 801 

Sandys 801 

Tate and Brady. . . SOI 

Watts 802 

P. Fletcher 802 

Sandys 803 

J. 3Iontgomery . . . . 74f> 

Chatterion 808 

T. Hey wood 806 

Anonymous 764 

Michael Angelo 794 

F. Quarles 757 

Jones Very 740 

J. Montgomery 7.55 

KebU 760 

Taughan 786 

Heber 783 

J. Montgomery 811 

C. Wesley 813 

J. dfontgomery. . . . 813 

Herrick 768 

C. Wesley 778 

Wither 743 

Pope 810 

Rich ard Baxter . : . 781 

St. Ambrose 793 

Cowper 807 

J. Bowring 759 

Newton 751 

J. Montgomery . ... 775 

Doddridge 792 

0. Wesley 754 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



ADDISON. JOSEPH. 

Born ia Wiltshire, Eng., May G, 1672; died ia Lor., June 17, 
ni9. „,. 

Ode— The Spacious Firmament <41 

Hj-mn— Wlien Kisinst from the Bed 78:5 

H yran— AVhcn all thy Mercies 804 

Hymii— How are thy Servants 804 

A.KENSIDE, MAEK. 

Born at Iv ewcastle-upon-Tyne, Nov. 9, Hill ; d. June 23, 1770. 

On a Sermon against Glory 392 

AiDKICH, JAMES. 

Born iu Orange Co., N. Y., July 10, 1810. 

ADeath-hed 503 

.\LLINGHAM, WILLIAM. 

Born in Ireland; lived at Ballyshannon; published _" The 
Music Master, and Day and Night Songs." London, 1S55. 

Eobin Redbreast 9? 

Lovely Mary Donnelly 26o 

The Fairies 5S0 

ALLSTON, WASHINGTON. 

Bom in S. C, Nov. 5, 1779 ; d. at Cambridge, Mass., July 9, 1843. 

Boyhood 152 

Kosalie 274 

ALTENBTJEG, MICHAEL. (Gekman.) 

Born iu Thuringia in 1533 ; died in 1640. 

Battlc-Song of Giistavus Adolphus. (Anony- ^^ 
mous iranslaiion.) 775 

AMBROSE, ST. (Latix.) 

Born at Treves, A. D. 340 ; died at Milan, April 3, 397. 

Veni Creator. {Dryden's parajifir-ase.) 793 

ANACEEON. (Greek.) 

Born at Teos, Greece j died there 476 e. c. 

Spring. {Moore's transhitioii.) 13 

The Grasshopper. {Cowley's translation.).... 63 
On the Grasshopper. {Couper'stranslaUon.). 69 

Drinking. {Cowley's translation.) 78 

The Portrait. {UaifstrannUitlon.) 273 

Cheat of Cupid, {llerrick's translation.) 281 

ANGELO, MICHAEL. (Italian.) 

Born in Tuscany, March 6, 1474; died in Rome, Feb'. 17, 1563. 

Sonnet. (•/. E. Taylor's translation.') 241 

Sonnet. {W. Wordsworth's translation.) 241 

Sonnet. {J. E. Taylor's translation.) 2.5S 

Sonnet. {S. Wordsworth's translation.) 794 

ANSTEE, JOHN. 

Born in Ireland about 1793 ; is Professor of Civil Law in Trin- 
ity College, Dublin. 

The Fairy Child '. 127 

ANTIPATEPv OF SIDON. (Geeek.) 
Lived in CJreece about lUO n. c. 

On Anacreon. ( T. Moore's tran ulation.) 638 

ARNOLD, EDWIN. 

Son of Dr. Arnold of Rugby ; brother of Matthew Arnold. 

Almond Blossom • • 13 

Woman's Voice 629 



ARNOLD, MATTHEW. 

Born at Lnleham, Erg., Deo. 24, 1322; elected Professor of 
Poetry at Oxl'ord in 1857. 

Philomela ^^3 

The Forsaken Merman 310 

Excuse ... 31 2 

Indifference 812 

Sohrab and Rustum 460 

ATTOUN. WILLIAM E. 

Born in Fifeshire, Scotland, in 1313; died Aug. 4, 1S65. 

Massacre of the Macpherson 420 

BAILLIE, JOANNA. 

Born in Lanarkshire, Scotliind, in 1T62; died at Hampstead, 
near London, Feb. 23, 1351. 

The Black Cock 29 

BARBAULD, ANNA L^TITIA. 

Born in Leicestershire, Eng., June SO, 1743 ; died near Lon- 
don, March 9, 1325. 

Death of the Virtuous 731 

" Come nnto Me." 759 

Praise to God 793 

BARNARD, LADY ANNE. 

Born in ScotUind, Dec. 8, 1750; died May 8, 1825. 

Auld Robin Gray 306 

BARNFIELD, RICHARD. 

Born in Staffordshire, Eng., in 1574 ; died about ICOO. 

Address to the Nightingale 51 

BARTON, BERNARD. 

Born near London, Jan. 31, 1734; died Feb. 19, 1849. 

Not ours the Vows 330 

There be Those 705 



BAXTER. RICHARD. 

Bom in Shropshire, Eng., Nov., 1615; died Dec. 8, 1691. 

Valediction 



751 



B.VYLT. THOMAS HAYNES. 

Born in Bath, Eng., in 1797 ; died iu 1339. 

Oh ! Where do Fairies hide their Heads ? 542 

BE.VTTIE, JAMES. 

Bom iu Kincardineshire, Scot., Oct. 20, 1735 ; died Aug. 13, 1803. 

The Hermit 718 

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. 

Were connected as writers in London from about 1605 to 1615. 
Francis Beaumont, b. in Leicestershire iu 1536 ; d. March 9, 1610 ; 
John Fletcher, b. in Northamptonshire in 1576 ; d. in Lon. in 
1625. 

Spring ^ 15 

ToPan «» 

FoldinsrWie Flocks 1' 

Hear. Ye Ladies ff, 

BeautyC'lear and Fair 24b 

SpeakTtove 216 

Heijce all you Vain Delights 685 



XVI 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 
BEDDOES, THOMAS LOVELL. 

Born near Bristol, Eug., in 1302; died in Germany in 1S43. 

Love's Last Messages 821 

Dirge '. 512 

Bridal Song and Dirge 513 

BENNETT, HENET. 

Born in Cort, Ireland, about 1785. 

St. Patrick was a Gentleman 483 

BENNETT, WILLIAM C. 
Lives in London. 

Invocation to Eain in Summer 77 

ToaCricket 107 

Baby May 119 

Baby's Shoes 164 

BERKELEY, GEOEGE. 

Born at Kilcrin, Ireland, Maroh 12, 16S4 ; died, Mshop of 
CI. yne, Jan. 13, 1753. 

On the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning 
in America 376 

BETIIUNE, JOHN. 

Born in Fifeshire, Scotland, in 1S12; died Sept. 1, 1839. 

Hymn of the Church-yard 728 

BLACKBUEN, THOMAS. 

Author of " Hymus and Poems for the Siclt and Suffering." 

Easter Hymn 752 

BLAKE, WILLIAM. 

Born in London, Nov. 2?^ 1757 ; died Aug. 12, 1828. 

The Tierr 73 

The Little Black Boy. 159 

Song 812 

The Garden of Love 706 

On Another's Sorrow 807 

BLANCHAED, LAMAN. 

Born at Great Yarmouth, England, May 15, 1S03; died Feb. 
6, 1845. 

Mother's Hope 131 

BOKEE, GEOEGE IIENET. 

Born in Philadelphia in lSi.'3. 

Black Eegiment 882 

BONAE, HORATIUS. 

Bern in Scotland about ISIO. Minister of the Free Church 
in Kelso. 

A Little While 7S7 

All Well 792 

BOrENE, VINCENT. 

An usher in Westminster School; bora about 1695; died 
Dec. 2, 1747. 

The Fly 72 

BOWLES, WILLIAM LISLE. 

Bom in Northamptonshire, Sept. 24, 1762; died April 7, 

1S50. 

The Greenwood ; 53 

Come to these Scenes of Peace 58 

On the Funeral of Charles the First 516 

BOWEING, JOHN. 

Bom in Eieter, England, Oct. 27, 1792. 

Watchman's lleport 759 

BEAINARD, JOHN G. C. 

Born at New London, Conn., Oct. 21, 1796; died Sept. 2C, 
1828. 

Epithalamium 830 

BEEITHAUPT, JOACHIM JUSTUS. 
Born in Hanover in 1658 ; died March 16, 1732. 

God's Greatness. {John Wesley's tvanalaiion.') S13 
BRETON. NICHOLAS. 

Born in England in 1555 ; died in 1024. 

Phillida and Corydon 243 

A Sweet Pastoral 671 

Priest 771 

Hymn 777 

BEISTOL, LORD. (Geokge Digbv.) 

Born in Madrid in 1G12 ; died at Chelsea, March 20, 1676. 

Song 28 

BROOKS, MAEIA. 

Born at Medford, IMass., about 1795 ; died in Cuba, Nov. 11, 1S45. 

Song 276 



Pag» 

BEOWN, FEANCES. 

Born in Ireland, June 16, 1318 ; died in 1864. 

Losses C96 

Oh I the Pleasant Days of Old 699 

Is it Come? 703 

If that were True 7u3 

BROWNE, WILLIAM. 

Born in Devonshire in 1590 ; died in 1645. 

Shall Itell? 246 

Welcome, Welcome 256 

BEOWNING, ELIZ.\BETH BAEEETT. 

Born in London in 18li9 ; died in Florence, July 29, 1861. 

The Child and Watcher 122 

Sonnets from the Portuguese 242 

Bertha in the Lane 307 

Mother and Poet 522 

Cowper's Grave 645 

The Sleep 719 

BEOWNING, EOBEET. 
Born near London in 1812. 

Pied Piper of Hamelin 189 

Misconceptions 287 

One Way of Love 287 

In a Year 292 

Evelyn Hope 816 

Give a Eouse 356 

How they brought the Good News from Ghent 

to Aix 878 

Incident of the French Camp 888 

The Lost Leader 516 

BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN. 

Born in Cummlngton, Mass., Nov. 3, 1794. 

To a Waterfowl 56 

The Fringed Gentian ;.. 92 

Death of the Flowers 93 

The Hunter of the Prairies 94 

The Evening Wind 101 

Burial of Love 322 

Song of Marion's Men 877 

Oh !" Mother of a Mighty Race 379 

The Battle-field 880 

The Hunter's Vision 491 

The Crowded Street 676 

Waiting by the Gate 690 

Thanatopsis 729 

BUCHANAN, EOBEET. 
Born in Scotland about 1835. 

Green Gnome 551 

Legend of the Stepmother 588 

BUEBIDGE, THOMAS. 

Born in England ; published " Poem8, Longer and Shorter." 
London, 1838. 

Mother's Love 188 

If I desire with Pleasant Songs , 282 

BUELEIGH, GEORGE S. 

Born at Plainfield, Conn., March 26, 1821. 

Mother Margery 63G 

BURNS, EGBERT. 

Born near Ayr, Scotland, Jan. 25, 1759 ; died July 21, 1796. 

To a Mountain Daisy 86 

My heart's in the Highlands 95 

Auld Lang Syne 192 

Here's a Health to Ane 260 

Ca' the Yowesto the Knowes 260 

Farewell to Nancy 260 

Of a' the airts the Wind can Blaw 261 

Bed, Red Rose 261 

Lass of Ballochmyle 261 

Address to a Lady 262 

Bonnie Leslie 263 

HighkndMary 816 

To Mary in Heaven 817 

My Wiie's a Winsome AVce Thing 881 

Blissful Day . . 334 

John Anderson 334 

Bannock-Burn • ■ • ■ 355 

Kenmure's on and Awa' 366 

Here's a Health to them that's Awa' 367 

Tarn O'Shanter 421 

Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson 507 

The Vision ■. 647 

Honest Poverty 702 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 707 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



BUTLER, "WILLIAM ALLEN. 

Born in Albany, N. Y., in 18-25. 

UWand 654 

BYUD, WILLIA^L 

An English musical composer — lived nbout 1600. 

Sons 6r,6 

My mindd to Mc a Kingdom is CG9 

BYRON, LORD. 

Born in London, Jan. 22, 17SS ; died April 10, ISil. 

Stanzas to Augusta 183 

To Thomas Moore 1S3 

IMaid of Athens, ere we Part 2.5S 

Girl of Cadiz 2.59 

Stanzas for Music 260 

Stanzas— Oh, talli not to me 2S6 

The Dream 2SS 

When wo two parted 291 

Destruction of Sennacherib 344 

Sons of the Greek Poet 3S3 

The Prisoner of Chillon 476 

Oh, Snatched away in Beauty's Bloom 509 

She Walks iu Beauty.* C31 

CALLISTEATU3. (Greek.) 

Lived In Greece about 5UU b. c. 

Ilarmodiusand Aristogciton. {Lord Denmari's 
translation.') ^ 345 

CAM0EN3, LUIS DE. (Poetttgtjese.) 

Born in Lisbon about 1524; died in 1579. 

Canzonet. {Lord StrangforcVs translation.). 43 

CAMPBELL, THOMAS. 

Bom in Glasgow-, July 27, 1777; died at Boulogne, June 15, 1844. 

To the Evening Star 102 

Song 2TS 

Lociiiel's AVarning 36T 

Hohonlindcn " 8S3 

Ye Mariners of England 8S4 

Battle of the Baltic 3S5 

Lord Ullin's Daughter 4S1 

The Soldier's Dream 604 

Hallowed Ground 700 

CANNING, GEORGE. 

Bora in London, April 11, 1770 ; died at Chiawick, Aug. 8, 1S27. 

Friend of Humanity, and the Knife-Grinder. . . 425 
Song of one Eleven Years in Prison 425 

CAEEW, THOMAS. 

Born in Devonshire, England, in 1539 ; died in 1639. 

The Airs of Spring 10 

Disdain Returned 250 

Song 252 

CHALKHILL, JOHN. 

A friend of Izank Walton ; lived in tie nti century. 

The Angler... , 20 

CHATTERTON, THOMAS. 

Bom at Bristol, England, Nov. 20, 1752; killed himself, Aug. 
23, 1770. 

Minstrel's Song 314 

The Resignation SOS 

CHAUCER, GEOFFREY. 

Bom in London in 132S; died Oct. 25, 1400. 

Flower and the Leaf 3 

The Cuckoo and the Nightingale 23 

CLARE, JOHN. 

Born iu Northamptonshire, England, July 13, 1793 ; died in 1854. 

July 57 

CLARK, GEORGE H. 

Lives at l-Lirtford, Conn. 

The Rail 439 

CLAUDIUS, MATTHIAS. (Gekman.) 

Bora near Lubeck, Germany, in 1743 ; died in 1315. 

Night Song. {0. T. Brooks's translation.) 106 

CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH. 

Born iu Liverpool, Jan. 1, 1819 ; died in Florence, Nov. 13, 18S1. 

Qua Cursum Ventus 1S2 

No More 694 



Pneo 
COLERIDGE, HARTLEY. 

Bom near Bristol, Em-., Sept. 19, 1796; died Jan. 19. 1849. 

Song— The Lark 10 

November !i^ 

COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR. 

Burn in Devonshire, Eng., Oct. 21, 1772; died July 25, 1834. 

The Nightingale m 

Hvmn, before Sunrise 114 

The Child in the Wilderness 124 

Love 2-2'.) 

Colosne 4-23 

Devil's Thoughts 4-23 

Song— Hear Sweet Spirit ii.Vi 

Rime of the Ancient Mariner 5T.j 

Kubla Khan 5<4 

Dejection : an Ode GSO 

The Good Great Man. . . C97 

COLLINS, ANN. 

Lived in England about 1650. 

Winter being Over ; . 670 

COLLINS, WILLIAM. 

Born at Chichester, England, Dec. 25, 1720 ; died iu 1756. 

Ode to Evening 102 

Ode— IIow Sleep the Brave 372 

Dirge in Cymbeline 512 

The Passions 6-25 

COLMAN, GEORGE, "The Yotjnger." 

Born in London, Oct. 21, 1762 ; died Oct. 26, 1836. 

Sir Marmaduke 6c5 

COOKE, PHILIP PENDLETON. 

Born at llartinst.'urg, Va., Oct. 26, 1816; died Jan. 20, 1S50. 

Florence Vane 814 

COEBETT, RICHARD. 

Born in Surrey, England, in 1582 ; died in 1635. 

The Fairies' Farewell 550 

CORNWALL. BARRY. (B. W. Peocter.) 

Bom in Wiltshire, England, about 1798. 

Song of Wood 'Nymphs 00 

The Blood Horse 70 

The Sea 81 

The Stormy Petrel 81 

The Sea— In Calm 84 

The Hunter's Song , i'5 

A Song for the Seasons 113 

Song — Love me if I Live 263 

Poet's Song to his Wife S34 

Softly Woo away her Breath 491 

The Mothers Last Song 499 

Peace I What do Tears Avail ? 5u3 

Bridal Dirge 514 

Hermione GA2 

Poet's Thoucrbt 657 

Petition to Time Vidi 

King Death 72-2 

Sit down, Sad Soul 723 

Life 728 

COTTON, CHARLES. 

Born in Derbyshire, England, in 1C30 ; died in 16S7. 

The Retirement 62 

COTTON, NATHANIEL. 

Born at St. Albans, England, in 1721 ; died in 17?3. 

The Fireside 332 

COWLEY, ABRAHAM. 

Born in London in 1618 ; died J-.;ly 28, 1667. 

The Garden 59 

The Chronicle 278 

COWPER, WILLIAM. 

Bom in Hertfordshire, Eng., Nov. 15, 1731 ; died April 25, ISOO. 

The Cricket 107 

Bo.adicea 346 

Diverting History of John Gilpin 416 

On the Loss of the Royal George 4s2 

Verses, supposed to be written by Alex. Selkirk 599 

On the Receipt of my Mother's "Pictiu-e 607 

Human Frailty 697 

Joy and Peace in Believing * . . . . 77S 

Future Peace and Glory of the Church •.'^^^ 

Light Shining out of Dai-kness J-'SOo 

Walkiug with God SOT 



* 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



CEANCH, CHPJSTOPHEK PEAKSE. 
Born in Alexandria, D. C, IMarch 8, 1813. 

Stanzas— Thought is Deeper CT4 

CEASHAW, EICHAED. 

Born in Cambridgcohire, Eng., about 1000; died in IGIO. 

Song— To thy LoTcr 251 

Temperance, or the Cheap Physician 67S 

On a Prayer-Book 772 

CEAWPOED, MES. J. 

An Irish lady ; wrote for the " London New Monthly." 

We parted in Silence 292 

CEOLY. GEOEGE. 

Born in Dublin in 17S0 ; died in 18G0. 

Leonidas 846 

Pericles and Aspasia 346 

Dirge "iSi 

CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN. 

Bote at Blackwood, Scotland, Dec. 17, 1784 ; died Dec. 29, 1842. 

A Wet Sheet and a Plowing Sea S2 

Thou hast Vowed by thy Paith, my Jeannie. . . 262 

Poet's Bridal-day Song 88-3 

Hame, Hame, llame 3T0 

My Ain Conntrce 371 

Gane were but the Winter eaiild 509 

CUETIS, GEOEGE WILLIAM. 
Bc^n in Providence, R. 1., in 18^4. 

Egyptian Serenade C29 

DAMASCENUS, ST. JOANNES. (Greek.) 

Born in Damascus ; died about 756. 

Hymn. {E. B. Bromiing's trmidation.) 752 

DANA, EICHAED HENET. 

Bom at Cambridge, Mass, Nov. 15, 1767. 

The Little Beach-Bird 84 

DANIEL, SAMLTEL. 

Born in Somersetshire, Eng., in 1562; died Oct., 1619. 

Love is a Sicknoss 243 

To the Lady Margaret 667 

DAELEY, GEOEGE. 

Born in Dublin in 1785 ; died in London in 1849. 

Song of the Summer Winds 79 

Gambols of Children 188 

Love Song 274 

Sylvia 274 

DAVIS, THOMAS. 

Born in Mallow, Ireland, in 1814 ; died in Dublin, Sept. 16, 1843. 

The Welcome 26T 

DAVISON, FEANCIS. 

Born in Norfolk, England, about 1575; died about 161S. 

Psalm XIII 796 

Psalm XXIII 797 

Psalm XXX i 798 

DE VEEE, AUBEEY. 

Born in the county of Limerick, Ireland, Dec. 16, 1814. 

Early Friendship 175 

Song— Sing the Old Song 275 

Sonnet 693 

DEEZIIAVIN, GAB-L EOMANO WITCH. (Eitssiak.) 

.Born in Kasan, Russia, July 3, 1743; died July 6, 1816. 

God. {J. Bowring^s ii'anslaticm.) 814 

DIBDIN, CHAELES. 

Bom at Southampton, England, iu 1745 ; died in 1814. 

Sir Sidnev Smith 419 

Tom Bowling 486 

DICKENS. CHAELES. 

Born at Portsmouth, England, Feb. 7, 1SI2. 

Ivy Green 9S 

DIMOND, WILLIAM. 

A theatrical mimager ; born in Bath, Eng. ; died in Paris, Oct. 
1S37. 

The Mariner's Dream 484 

DOBELL. SYDNEY. 

Boru at Peckham Eye, Engl.and, in 1S24. 

IIow's my Boy ? 485 



DODDEIDGE, PHILIP. ^^^ 

Born in London, June 26, 1702; died Oct., 1751. 

For New Year's Day 740 

" Mark the Soft-falling Snow " 741 

God the Everlasting Lightof the Saints 787 

Wilderness Transformed 792 

" How Gracious and how Wise" , SOS 

DOMMETT, ALFEED. 

^orn in England about 1815 ; lives in New Zealand. 

Christmas Hymn 7C5 

DOWLAND, JOHN. 

An English musical composer; lived about 1600. 

Sleep ,, T20 

DOWNING, MAEY. 

Born in Cork, Irelaud, about 1830. 

Were I but his o\>ti Wife 267 

DEAKE, JOSEPH EODMAN. 

Bom in New York, Aug. 7, 1795 ; died Sept., 1820. 

To Sarah 38S 

American Flag 879 

The Culprit Fay 542 

DEAYTON, MICHAEL. 

Bom iu Warwickshire, England, in 1563; died in 1631. 

Sonnet 2S6 

Ballad of Agincourt 352 

DEUMMOND, WILLIAISL 

Born in Scotland, Nov. 13, 1585; died Dec, 1649. 

Song — ^Phoebus Arise 14 

To the Nightingale F.l 

To the Eedbreast 112 

Sonnet — I know that All.. ..'. 241 

Sonnets 670 

Sonnet— Of Mortal Glory 727 

Dedication of a Church 771 

DEYDEN, JOHN. 

Bom in Northamptonshire, Eng., Aug. 9,1631 ; died May 1, 1700. 

Ah, how Sweet it is to Love 252 

Alexander's Feast 623 

DUFPEEIN, LADY. 

Formerlv jMrs. Blackwood; grand-daughter of R. B. Sheridan; 
sister of Mrs. Norton ; born in Ireland in 1807. 

Lament of the Iri.sh Emigrant 497 

DUNBAE, WILLIAM. 

Born in Scotland about 1465 ; died about 1530. 

" All Earthly Joy retm-ns in Pain " 593 

DWIGHT, JOHN SULLIVAN. 

Born in Boston, Muss., May 13, 1S13. 

Sweet is the Pleasure C74 

DYEE, JOHN. 

Born in Wales in 1700 ; died iu 1758. 

Grongar Hill 98 

EASTMAN, CHAELES OAMAGE. 

Born in Fryeburg, Me., June 1, 1S16 ; died in Burlington, Vt., 
in 1861. 

A Snowstorm 490 

Dirge 513 

ELLIOTT, EBENEZEE. 

Born neat Sheffield, Eug., March 17, 1781 ; died Dec. 1, 1849. 

The Bramble Flower 41 

Poet's Epitaph 52U 

EMEESON, EALPH WALDO. 

Born in Boston, Mass., in 1803. 

The Ehodora 86 

To the Humble Bee 70 

The Snow Storm Ill 

Threnody 1C6 

Ode to Beauty 671 

Good-bye 67T 

Guy 678 

Bacchus 679 

Each and All 705 

The Problem : 707 



INDEX or AUTHORS. 



Page 
FENXEIJ, CORNELIUS GEORGE. 

Horn iu Vrovidencc, R. I., Dec. ao, ISii ; dieJ in Cincinnati, 
J.1D. 4, 1S17. 

GuIfVYced Si 

FERGUSON, SAMUEL. 

Born in the north of Ireland abMt IS05— is a Barrister in Duhlin. 

The Fairy Thorn .5ST 

Forging of the Anchor G02 

FIELDS, JAMES T. 

Born in Po:-tsmouth, N. H., in IS20. 

E.illad of the Tempest 1.5S 

Dirge for a Young Girl 513 

FLETCHER, GILES. 

Burn in Kent, England, about 1530 ; died iu ICIO. 

Fiinglcry's Wooing Song 248 

FLETCHER, PniNEAS. 

Born in London in U84 ; died about 1G50. 

ITymu— Prop, Drop, Slow Teari^ 7C4 

Fsalin CXXX 802 

FORTUNATUS. VENANTIUS. (Latin.) 

Saint of the Latin Church; born near Venice iu iiCO;died 
about GOO. 

Passion Sunday. {Ano7i7/mo2ts ti'anslation.).. 750 

FREILIGRATH, FERDINAND. (Geeman.) 

Born at Detmold, Germany, June 17, 1810. 

The Lion's Ride. {Anonymous translation.). 73 

FRENEAU, PHILIP. 

Born in Xew York, Jan. l.?, 1752 ; died Dec. 13, 1835. 

The Wild Honeysuckle 41 

GAT, JOHN. 

Born in Devonshire, England, in 1688; died Dec. 11, 1732. 

Sweet William's Farewell to Black-eyed Susan. 213 
GERHARD, PAUL. (German.) 

Born in Saxony in llioG ; died June 7, 1G76. 

Living by Christ. (-/. Wesley's translation.). 701 

GIL^MAN, CAROLINE. 

Born in Boston, Mass., in 1794. 

Annie in the Grave-yard 158 

GLAZIER, W. B. 

Lives in Gardiner, Me. 

Cape Cottage at Sunset 183 

GLEN, WILLIAM. 

A native of Glasgow, died about 1824. 

Wac's Me for Prince Charlie 370 

GOETHE, JOHANN WOLFGANG VON. (Gkkman.) 
Born atFraukfort-ou-tbe-ilain, Aug. 29, 1749 ; died at Weimar, 
in 1832. 

The Minstrel. {J. C. Manf/an^s translation.). 657 
GOLDSMITH, OLIVER. 

Bern in the county of Longford, Ireland, Nov. 29, 172S; died 
April 4, 1774. 

The Hermit 21 6 

Elegy on the DcaUi of a Mad Dog 405 

Elegy on the Glory of hor Sex, Mrs. Mary 

Blaizc 419 

The Traveller COS 

The Deserted Village GU 

GRANT, SIR ROBERT. 

Born ill Scotland iu 17sj ; died July 9, 1SC8. 

Litany 702 

liymn 703 

GRAY, THOMAS. 

Born ill Loudon, Dec. 20, 174G ; died July 30, 1771. 

On a Distant Prospect of Eton College 143 

Elegy written in a Country Chiu-ch-yard 731 

GREENE, ROBERT. 

Born at Norwich, En'jland, about 1500 j died Sept. 5, V,K. 

Philomela's Ode 253 

Song— Sweet arc the Thoughts 605 

GREGORY THE GREAT, ST. (Latix.) 

Born in Rome about 540 ; died '604. 

Darkness is Thinning. {J. M. Keale-s trans- 
lation.) 737 



HABINGTON, WILLIAM. ^^^' 

Born in Worcestcrahire, England, in 1605 ; died iu 1645. 

Castara 248 

Night 71G 

HALLECK, FITZ-GREENE. 
Born at Guilford, Conn., in Aug., 1795. 

Marco Bozarris 23'J 

HAMILTON, WILLIAM. 

Bom at Baugour, Scotland, in 1704; died in 1754. 

Braes of Yarrow 452 

HART, JOSEPH. 

An English Dissenting Clergyman ; lived in London in 1759. 
Gothsemane 750 

HARTE, WALTER. 

Born in 1700; died in Wales in 1774. 

Soliloquy 09 

HEBER, REGINALD. 

Born in Cheshire, England, April 21, 1733 ; died Ai^ril 3, ISSfl. 

If tliou wert by my Side 331 

Epiphany 746 

Thou art gone to the Grave 7S3 

HEINE, HEINEICH. (German.) 

Bom at Dusseldorf, Germany, Jan. 1, 1800 ; died in 1856. 

" Calm is the Night." {LelancVs translation.) 523 
The Lorelei. {G. P. CrancKs translation.)... 553 

The Water Fay. {Leland's translation.) 553 

The Fisher's Cottage. {Leland's translation.) 593 

HEMANS, FELICIA. 

Bom in Liverpool, England, Sept. 23, 1794 ; died Jlay 16, 1335. 

Willow Song 07 

The Wandering Wind 79 

The Adopted Child 153 

Landing of the Pilgrifn Fathers 876 

Casablanca 887 

Dirge 514 

HERBERT, GEORGE. 

Bom in Wales, April 3, 1593; died in Feb., 1630. 

I\Ian 712 

"N'irtue 717 

Easter 752 

The Call 754 

The Odor 755 

Comiilaining 757 

The Flower 75T 

HERRICK, ROBERT. 

Born in London iu 1591 ; date of death unknown. 

To Violets 34 

To Primroses 35 

To Blossoms 85 

To Daffodils 85 

To Meadows HI 

Mrs. Eliz. Wheeler 247 

Night Piece 249 

Gather j-e Rose-buds 824 

The Hag 424 

Dirge of Jepbtbah's Daughter 511 

Delight in Disorder , 630 

Upon Julia's Kecovorj- 002 

To Perilla 6S9 

The White Island 099 

To keep a true Lent 70S 

Litany to the Holy Spirit 730 

HEYWOOD, THOMAS. 

Lived in Eiiglaud, under Queen Elizabeth and Charles 1. 

Sonc:— The Lark 20 

Search after God 806 

HILL, THOMAS. 

Born in New Brun3\vick, N. J., Jan. 7, 1818. 

The Bobolink 22 

HOFFMAN, CHARLES FENNO. 

Born in New York in ISOO. , 

Sparkling and Brisht 184 

Monterey T 381 



HOGG, JAMES. 

Born in Ettrick, Scotland, Jan. 25, 1772 ; died Nov. 21, 1S35. 

The Lark 19 

The Moon was a "Waning 4S6 

Kilmeny 5ST 

HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL. 

Born at Cambridge, Mass., Aug. 20, 1809. 

. The Steamboat Cno 

The Last Leaf G69 

HOLTT, LUDWIG. (German.) 

Born near Hanover, Germany, I)ec. 21, 1748 ; died Dec. 1, 1776. 

"Winter Song. {C. T. Broolcs's translation.)... 112 

HOOD, THOMAS. 

Born in London in 1798 ; died May 3, 1845. 

Flon'ers 43 

Autumn 97 

To a Child embracing his Mother 12n 

To my Daughter 135 

I Remember, I Remember 156 

Fair Ines 263 

Ruth 269 

Serenade 2T0 

Ballad — It was not in the Winter 272 

Ballad— Sigh on, Sad Heart 2S7 

Faithless JSfelly Gray 429 

Faithless Sally Brown 430 

Lady at Sea 431 

Dream of Euaene Aram 4S7 

Bridge of Sisbs 49S 

Song of the Shirt 499 

The Death-bed 502 

The Water Lady 553 

Song— A Lake and a Fairy Boat 554 

Soug— OLady, Leave 632 

HOWE, JULIA WARD. 

Bern in New York about 1820. 

The Dead Christ 764 

howitt; mart. 

Born ia Uttoxetcr, England, about ISOO. 

Little Streams i . . 81 

Broom Flower. 40 

Summer Woods C6 

Cornfields 92 

Little Children 135 

Fairies of the Caldon Low 54i 

HOWITT, WILLIAM. 

Born in Derbyshire, England, in 1795. 

Departure of the Swallow 107 

EFGO, VICTOR. (Feench.) 

Born in BesQn;on, France, Feb. 26, 1802. 

TheDjinns. {0' Sullivan'' s translation.) 5S9 

HUNT, LEIGH. 

Born in Middlesex, Eng., Oct. 19, 17S4; died Aug. 28, 1859. 

Chorus of Flowers 44 

Grasshopper and Cricket 70 

To J. H.— Four Tears Old 126 

To a Child during Sickness 127 

Jaffar 180 

The Nun 279 

Jenny Kissed Me 2S6 

Abou Ben Adbem : 599 

Angel in the House 723 

HUNTER, ANNE. 

Born in Scotland in 1742 ; died in 1821. 

Indian Death-song 375 

HTSLOP, JAMES. 

Born in Scotland, July, 1703; died Dec. 4, 1827. 

Cameronian's Dream 862 

INGRAM, JOHN KELLS. 

Born in Ireland about 1S20 ; ia a Fellow of Trin. Coll., Dublin. 

The Memory of the Dead 390- 

JOHNSON, SAMUEL. 

Born in Lichfield, Eng., Sept. IS, 1709 ; died in London, Dec. 
13, 1784. 

Vanity of Hum.an Wishes 6S0 



^ Pago 

JONES, ERNEST. 

A le.iding Chartist ; lives in England. 

Moonrise ... 104 

JONES, SIR WILLIAM. 

Born in London, Sept. 23, 1746 ; died April 27, 1794. 

Ode— What Constitutes a State 891 

JONSON, BEN. 

Born in London, June 11, 1574; died Aug. 16, 1637. 

To Cynthia 104 

Triumph of Charis 244 

Discourse with Cupid 245 

Epitaph on Elizabeth L. 11 515 

Song 630 

Ode- To Himself 640 

KEATS, JOHN. 

Born in London in 1796 ; died Feb. 24, 1821. 

Nature and the Poets 47 

Ode to a Nightingale 52 

Hymn to Pan 64 

On the Grasshopper and Cricket. 69 

To Autumn 96 

Fancy lOS 

Eve of St. Agnes 220 

Fairy Song 585 

La Belle Dame sans Merci 536 

Lines on the Mermaid Tavern 689 

On first looking into Chapman's Homer 654 

Ode— Bards of Passion 656 

Ode on a Grecian Urn 660 

Robin Hood 69S 

KEBLE, JOHN. 

Born in Gloucestershire, Eng., April 25, 1792; died Jiarch 29, 1SC6. 

April 12 

The Elder Scripture 740 

St. Peter's Day 766 

Is this a Time to Plant and Build ? 7T0 

KEMBLE, FRANCES ANNE. 
Born in London about 1811. 

Absence 277 

KENTON, JOHN. 

Died in London In 1857. 

Champagne Rose 185 

KET, FRANCIS SCOTT. 

Born .ibout 1790; died in Baltimore, Jan. 11, 1843. 

Star-spangled Banner 878 

KING, HENET. 

Bishop of Chichester, England ; born in 1591 ; died in 1069. 

Life 727 

KINGSLET, CHARLES. 

Born in Devonshire, England, June 12, 1819. 

gong— O, Mary, Go and Call the Cattle Home .. . 459 
The Fishermen 475 

LAMB, CHARLES. 

Born in London, Feb. IS, 1775; died Dec. 27, 1S.'54. 

The Christening ... 120 

The Gipsy's Malison 125 

Childhood 155 

Old Familiar Faces 1S2 

Hypochondriacus 427 

Farewell to Tobacco 427 

Hester 508 

Lines on a Celebrated Picture 74S 

LAMB, MART. 

Born in London in 1765 ; died May 20, 1847. 

Choosing a N.ame 120 

LANDON, L^TITIA ELIZABETH. (Mks. Maclean.) 

Born at Chelsea, Eng., in 1S02; died in Africa, Oct. 16, 1838. 

The Shepherd Bov 187 

Little Red Riding Hood 138 

Night at Sea 192 

Awakening of Ennymion 275 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Pago 
LANDOR. WALTER SAVAGE. 

Bttrn in Warwickshire, Kng., in 1775 ; died in Florence, Sept. 
17, 18C4. 

The Rrier 42 

Children V-W 

MjiuVs Lament 2S6 

Iphifconia and A^'amemuon 4i'2 

To Macaulay 656 

One Gray Hair 689 

Memory 690 

An Old Poet to Sleep 720 

LEONIDAS, OF ALEXxVFDRI.\.. (Gkeek.) 

Born iu the year 5y; died in l'J9. 

On the Picture of an Infant. (Roffers's trans- 
lation.) 125 

LETDEN", JOHN. 

Bom at I)enholm, Scotland, Sept. S, 1775; died in Batavia, 
E. I., Au^'. 21, ISU. 

Sabbath Morning 17 

LOCKIIART, JOHN GIBSON. 

Born in Glasgow in 1792 ; died at Abbotsfoid, Nov. 25, 1834. 

Broadswords of Scotland S71 

LOGAN, .JOHN. 

Born in Scotland in 1748 ; u.M in Dec, 1788. 

To the Cnckoo 23 

Song — Yarrow Stream 454 

Heavenly Wisdom 712 

LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWOETH. 

Bo:n in Portland, Me., Feb. 27, 1807. 

Flowers 45 

Twilight S2 

Seaweed S3 

Woods in Winter 110 

Afternoon in February 112 

The Children's Hour 155 

The Open Window 103 

The Fire of Driftwood 181 

Excelsior 892 

Wreck of the Hesperus 488 

Warden of the Cinque Ports 51S 

The Village Blacksmith 600 

The Arsenal at Springfield 605 

The Light of Stars. . .' 716 

The Slave Singing at Midnight 719 

Psalm of Life ." 722 

King Robert of Sicily 724 

The Footsteps of Angels 726 

LOVELACE, RICHARD. 

Born in Kent, England, in 1G18 ; died in 1653. 

The Grasshopper 68 

To Lucasta 249 

To iVlthea, from Prison 250 

To Lucasta 250 

Orpheus to the Beasts 299 

LOVER, SAMUEL. 

Born in Dublin in 1797 ; died in 1866. 

The Ansel's Whisper 122 

Rory O'Morc 2«3 

Moliy Carew 2S4 

Widow Machree 2S5 

LOWELL, JAIMES RUSSELL. 

Born at Cambridge, Mass., Feb. 22, 1819. 

The Fountain 30 

To the Dandelion 42 

The Bircb Tree 65 

She Came and Went.'. 163 

My Love 271 

Rhoecus 572 

Hebe 630 

LOWELL, MARIA WHITE. 

Born at Watertown, llass., July 8, 1821 ; died Oct. 27, 1S53. 
Morning-Glory 103 

LUTHER, MARTIN. (German.1 

Born at Kisleben, Saxouy, Nov. 10, 1483; died Feb, IS, 1546. 

Martyrs' Hymn. {W. J. Fox's trar/slaiion.'). . 7T5 
A Safe Stronghold. (7! Curlijle's translation.) 799 

4 



LYLY, JOHN. ^""^ 

Born in Kent, England, about 1554 ; died about 160(1 

Cupid and Campaspe 245 

LYTTON, EDWARD ROBERT BULWER. 

Only son of Lord Lytton, born in Herts, Eng., Nov. 8, .1831. 

Changes gig, 

Au.\ Italiens \ z\^ 

MACAULAY, LORD. 

Born at Rothley Temple, England, in 1800; died in London, 
Dec. 2S, 1859. 

Horatius 837 

Ivry 85,5 

Naseby 357 

McCarthy, dennis Florence. 

Born in Cork, Ireland, about 1310. 

Sammer Longings 1,5 

Irish Melody 266 

MACKAY, CHARLES. 

Born at Perth, Scotland, in 1812. 

What Might be Done 196 

McMASTEE, GUY HUMPHREY. 

Born at Bath, Steuben County, in 1S29. 

Carmen Bellicosum 877 

MAGINN, WILLIAM. 

Born in Cork, Ireland, about 1793 ; died Aug. 20, 1842. 

St. Patrick, of Ireland, my Dear 4-34 

The Irishman .... 435 

MALLETT, DAVID. 

Born in Scotland about 1700; died April 21, 1765. 

A Funeral Hymu 503 

MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER. 

Born at Canterbury, Eng., Feb. 26, 1504; died June 16, 1593. 

Milk-Maid's Song 254 

MAKVELL, ANDREW. 

Born at Kingston-upon-IIull, England, Nov. 15, 1620-; died 
Aug. 16, 1678. 

A Drop of Dew 14 

TheGarden 53 

The Lover to the Glow-worms 247 

Horatian Ode 853 

The Nymph Complaining 496 

Emigrants in Bermudas 767 

MENDOZA, LOPE DE. (Spaxtsh.) 

Bom -in Corrion de los Condes, Sp.ain, Aug. 19,1393; died 
March 26, 1453. 

Serrana. {J. U. Wiffen''8 translation.) 230 

MERCER, MARGARET. 

Born at Annapolis, Md., iu 1791 ; died at Belmont, Va., Sept 
19, 1847. 

Exhortation to Prayer 776 

MEREDITH, GEORGE. 

Born in Hampshire, England, about 1S2S. 

Love in the Valley 235 

MERRICK, JAMES. 

Born in England in 1720; died in 1709. 

Psalm SXIII 793 

MESSINGER, ROBERT HINCKLEY. 

Born in Boston about 1807. 

Give me the Old 134 

MILLER, THOMAS. 

Born in Gainsborough, England, Aug. 31, 1809. 

To George M 132 

The Grave of a Poetess 655 

The Happy Valley 700 

SIILLER, WILLIAM. 

A native of Scotland, now living. 

AVillie Winkie 120 

MILLIKE.N, RICHARD ALFRED. 

Born in the county of Cork, Ireland, in 1757; died in ISJi. 

Groves of Bl.irney 435 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



milmjln', henry haet. 

Bom ia London, Feb. 10, 1791. 

Bridal Sons 32-1 

Hymn — When our Heads 7(J3 

Hymn — Brother, thou art Gone 783 

Chorus S09 

MILNES, EICHAEDMONCKTON. (Lor.D HotTGHTON.) 
Born in Yorkshire, England, in 1S09. 

The Brook-Side 2T2 

MILTOlsr, JOHN. 

Born in London, Dec. 9, 160S ; died Nov. 8, 1674. 

Song : On May Morning 13 

To the Nightingale 51 

Sonnets SCO 

Lycidas 504 

Comus, a Mask 556 

Enitaph on Shakespeare C3S 

L' Allegro 661 

II Penseroso 663 

Sonnets 697 

On the Nativity 743 

MOIE, DAVID MACBETH. 

Bom at Musselburgli, Scotland, Jan. 5, 1798 ; died July 6, 1851. 

Casa Wappy 169 

MONTGOMERY, ALEXANDER. 

Born in Ayrshire, Scotland, before 1550 ; died about 16' ' 

Night is Nigh Gone 



16 



MONTGOMERY. JAMES. 

Born at Irvine, Scotland, Nov. 4, 1771 ; died April 30, 1834. 

To a Daisy 37 

Evening in the Alps 1U3 

Reign of Christ on Earth 749 

Gethsemane ... 751 

Stranger and his Friend 755 

Humility 770 

Field of the World 774 

What is Prayer 775 

Charity 778 

The Lord the Good Shepherd 794 

" Thou, God, seest me " 811 

Time Past, Time Passing, Time to Come 813 

MONTROSE, JAMES GRiVHAM, Marquis of. 

Horn at Montrose, Scotland, in 1612 ; banged at Edinburgh, 
M:vy 21, 1651. 

My Dear and Only Lore 255 

JIOORE, CLEMENT C. 

Bom in New Yorls, July 15, 1770; died at Newport, R. I., 
July 10, 1863. 

Visit from St. Nicholas 142 

MOORE, THOMAS. 

Born in Dublin, May 28, 1779; died Feb. 25, 1852. 

The Last Rose of Summer 94 

Wreathe the Bowl 1 S5 

Fill the Bumper Fair 186 

And doth not a Meeting like This 186 

Come send round the Wine 187 

Friend of my Soul 188 

Farewell! butwheneveryou Welcome theHour 188 

The Journey Onward 194 

Go where Glory waits thee ! 264 

Fly to the Desert 264 

Fly not Yet 280 

Sons 371 

The^Harp that Once through Tara's Halls 372 

Peace to the Slumberers 372 

Oh ! Breathe not his Name 509 

Those Evening Bells 622 

Canadian Boat Song 629 

Arranmore 701 

MORE, HENRY. 

Bom at Grantham, Engl.md, in 1614; died in 1637. 

Philosopher's Devotion 739 

Charity and Humility 709 

MOTHERWELL, WILLIAM. 

Bom tu Glasgow, in 1797 ; died in 1835. 

Thev Ccme, the Merry Summer Months 17 

Tho'Water! The Water 31 

Midnight Wind 109 



Pace 

The Bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary 3(ll 

Jeauie Morrison 802 

My Held is like to Rend, Willie 803 

Cavalier's Song 358 

Covenanter's Battle-chant 861 

When I beneath the cold, red Earth am Sleeping 520 

MOULTRIE, JOHN. 

A Clergyman of the Church of England ; born in Eng. about ISOl. 

The Thi-ee Sons 164 

MUELLER, WILHELM. (German.) 

Born at Dessau, Germany, Oct. 7, 1794 ; died Oct. 1, 1827. 

The Sunken City. {3£angan''s translation.) . . C77 

MULOCK, DINAH MARIA. 

Born in StaflV'rdshire, England, in 1826. 

North Wind Ill 

Philip. My King 121 

Too Late 319 

NEELE, HENRY. 

Born in Loudon in 1798; died (by his own hand) Feb. 7, 1828. 

Moan, moan, ye Dying Gales 83 

NEWTON, JOHN. 

Born in London in 1725 ; died there in 1807. 

Weeping Mary 751 

Jesus 758 

NOEL, THOMAS. 

Autlior of *' Rhymes and Roundelays," London, 1841. 

The Pauper's Drive 502 

NORRIS, JOHN. 

Born in England, 1657; died ia 1711. 

Superstition 251 

The Reply 603 

NORTON, CAROLINE. 

Born at Hampton Court, England, in 1808. 

To Ferdin.and Seymour 121 

Mother's Heart 131 

We have been Friends together 1S8 

Allan Percy 813 

Love Not 823 

The King of Denmark's Ride 4S0 

OGILVIE, JOHN. 

Born in Aberdeen, Scotland, in 1733 ; died in 1814. 

Hymn from Psalm CXLVIII 802 

O'KEEFE, JOHN. 

Bom in Dublin, June 24, 1747 ; died Feb. 4, 1S33. 

I am a Friar of Orders Gray , . 689 

ORLEANS, CHARLES, Duke of. (French.) 

Born in Paris, May 26, 1391 ; died Jan. 4, 1465. 

Fairest Thing in Mortal Eyes. (II. Can/s 
translation.) 322 

PALMER, JOHN WILLIAMSON. 
Born in Baltimore, Md., about 1828. 

For Charlie's Sake 171 

PARSONS, THOMAS WILLIAM. 

Bom in Boston, Mass., Aug. IS, 1819. 

Song for September 00 

Saint Pcray 191 

The Groomsman to his Mistress 277 

On a Bust of Dante 892 

On a Lady Singing 628 

PERCIVAL, JAISIES GATES. 

Born in Berlin, Conn., Sept. 15, 1795 ; died May 2, 1356. 

May. 15 

The Coral Grove 85 

To Seneca Lake 86 

. It is Great for our Country to Die 845 

PERCY, THOMAS. 

Born in Shropshire, Eng., in 1?28 ; died as Bishop of Dromore, 
Ireland, in 1811. 

Friar of Orders Gray 213 

PERRY. NORA. 

Lives in Providence, R. I. 

Loss and Gain 171 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Pnge 
IMIILOSTRATUS. (Greel".) 
Born in Leninos, (ireec, nbout 1S2. 

To Cclia. (B. Jonso)is trarulation.) 2-15 

piERPONT, joirx. 

l{,.rn in LitcMcM, tV.nr-.., April C, 17S5; died Aug. 26, 18S6. 

My Child ITO 

Contcnnial Otlo TTi 

PINKNEY. EDWART> COATE. 

liorn in London, Oct., 1S02; died :it Bnltimore, April 11, 1S08. 

Serenade 270 

A Health 273 

POE,EDGAK ALLAK 

Born in Baltimore, Jan., 1311 j died Oct. 7, 1S!V. 

Annabel Lee 315 

The Kaven 5S4 

The Bells 021 

POPE, ALEXANDER. 

Uorn in London, Mfiy SO, 16S3 ; died May 30, 1744. 

The Rape of the Lock 400 

Messiah 747 

Dyins Christian to hi§ Soul 7S1 

Universal Prayer SIO 

PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTIL 

Born in London in 1302 ; died July 15, 1339. 

The Yicar 4^2 

Twenty-eight and Twenty-nine 443 

Charade 056 

PRIEST, NANCT AMELIA WOODBURA'. 

Born in Hinsdale, N. H., about 1S34. 

Over the River 



ROI^SARD, PIERRE. (Frexcii.) 

Bern in Vendomois, France, in 1524; died in 15S5. 

Return of Spring. (^Anoiiymous translation.) 10 

KOSCOE. WILLIAM. 

Bom at Mount Pleas:int, near Liverpool, 1753; died June 
30, lS:i!. 

On the Death of Burns 050 

EOSCOE, WILLIAM STANLEY. 

Born in England iu 1782 ; died October, 1843. 

Dirge 512 

EYAN, RICHARD. 

A native of Scotland ; lived in the last century. 



rso 



PRIN'GLE. THOMAS. 

Born at Blacklaw, Scotland, Jan. 5, 1739 ; died Dec. 5, 1834. 

The Lion and Giraffe 74 

Afar in the Desert 75 

PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE. 

Born in London, about 1S2G ; died there, Feb., 1364. 

Doubting Heart 107 

PROUT, FATHER. (Francis Mahony.) 

Born iu Ireland about 1805 ; died in Paris, May 19, 1865. 

The Bells of Shandon 620 

PRFDENTIUS, AURELIUS. (Latix.) 

Born in Spain, 34S. 

Each Sorrowful Mourner. (J. Jf. XeaWs trans- 
lation.) ^.. 7S6 

QUA.RLES, FRANCIS. 

Born at Stewards, near Rumford, Eng., in 1592 ; d. Sept. 8, 1644. 

Sonnets 757 

Fasting 76S 

Delight in God only S12 

QUAELES, JOHN. 

Son of Francis Quarles; born in Essex, England, in 1624; died 
cf the Plague iu 1665. 

Divine Ejaculation 810 

RALEIGH, SIR WALTER. 

Born in Budley, Eng., iu 1552; beheaded Oct. 29, 1513. 

Milkmaid's Mother's Answer 254 

SAAi^SAY. ALLAN. 

Born in Crawford, Scotland, in 1SS5 ; died in 1753. 

Loehaber no More 365 

RANDOLPH, THOMAS. 

Born in Badby, England, in 1S05 ; died JIarch 17, 1634. 

Song of Fairies. {Leifjh Hunt's translation.) 530 

READ. THOMAS BUCHANAN. 

Bjrn iu Chester county, Poun., March 12, IS22. 

Autumn's Sighing 97 

The Windy Night 109 

ROBERTS, SARAH. 

Horn in Portsmouth, N. H. ; lives ia one cf the Western 
States. 

The Yoice of the Grass 57 

ROGERS, SAMUEL. 

Bora uear London, July 30, 1763; died in London, Dec. 18, 
185,-. 

A Wish 331 



Oh, Saw ye the Lass. 



263 



SALIS, JOHANN GAUDENZ VON. (German.) 

Born in Orisons, Switzerland, in 1762. 

Song of the Silent Land, ij^ongfellow'' s tra ns- 
idtion.) 500 

SANDYS, GEORGE. 

Born in Bishopsthorpe, Eng., 1577 ; died in Kent, March, 1648. 

P,salm EXVI 800 

Psalm XCII : . . . . 801 

Psalm CXLVIII S03 

SAPPHO. (Greek.) i 

Born in Lesbos in the sixth century before Christ. 

Blest as the Immortal Gods. (_A. PhilUps's 
translation.) 257 

SCHILLER, FREDERIC. (German.) 

Born in Marbach, Germany, Nov. 10, 1759 ; died May 9, 1805. 

Indian Death-Song. {Frotldngham's trans- 
lation.) 375 

SCOTT. SIR WALTER. 

Bom in Edinburgh, Aug. 15, 1771 ; died Sept. 21, 1832 

, Jock of Hazeldean 

Lochinvar 

Song— The Heath this Night 

Song^A Woary Lot is Tliine 

Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee 

Border Ballad 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 

Coronach 

"Proud Maisie is in the Wood" 

Hymn of the Hebrew M.aid 



233 
234 
259 
294 
8G3 
369 
369 
5U9 
633 
707 



SHAKESPEARE. WILLIAAL 

Born in Stratford-on- Avon, England, about April 23, 1564; died 
April 23, 161G. 

Morning IS 

Song— The Greenwood Tree 5S 

Blow, blow thou Winter Wind 110 

Sonnets ITo 

Sonnets 2-38 

Come away, Death ■ 253 

Crabbed Age and Youth 279 

Dirso of Imosren 510 

Song of the Fairy 533 

Ariel's Songs 552 

Influence of Music . . ■. 625 

Who is Sylvia? 631 

SHAKESPEAEE and JOHN FLETCHER. 

Take, oh take those Lips Away 247 

SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE. 

Born ia Field Place, EngLand, Aug. 4, 1792 ; died July 8, 1322. 

To the Skylark 13 

Arethusa 29 

The Question 33 

The Cloud "^ 

Ode to the West Wind tO 

Autumn- A Diige 96 

To Night 104 

Dirge for the A'ear 113 

Lines to an Indian Air 257 

Love's Philosophy 2.58 

To 253 

L.ament 521 

Lament : 521 

To a Lady with a Guitar 627 

To Constantia Singing .V. 628 

An Exhortation. ."; • 660 

Song — Rarely, rarely comcst Thou 672 

Hymn to Intellectual Beauty > 678 

Mutability 694 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 
SHENSTONE, WILLIAM. 

Bora in Hales-On-en, England, ia 1714; died Fclj. 11, 1763. 

The Schoolmistress 144 

SHIRLEY, JAMES. 

Born in London, about 1594; died Oct. 29, IGGo. 

Tictorions Mi^n of Earth 605 

Death's final Conquest 717 

SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP. 

Born in Penshurst, England, Not. 29, 1554 ; died Oct. 7, 1586. 

Sonnets 240 

SIMMONS, B. 

Author 01' " Legends, Lyrics, and other Poems," Edinb'h, 1843. 

Stanzas to the Memory of Thomas Hood 519 

SIMONIDES. (Greek.) 

Born in Julis, island of Cos, B. c. 554; died B. c. 469. 

DanaG. ( HI Peter''s trandaiion.) 152 

SKELTON, JOHN. 

Bom in Cumberland, England, toward the latter part of the 
15th century; died June 21, 151.^9. 

To Mrs. Margaret Hussey 631 

SMITH, CHARLOTTE. 

Born in Sussex, England, iul749 ; died in ISOG. 

The Nightingale's Departure 5 

SMITH. HORACE. 

Born in London, Dec. 31, 1779 ; died July ID, 1839. 

Hymn to the Flowers 46 

On the Death of George the Third 517 

Address to the Mummy at Belzoni"s Exhibition. 597 

SMITH, SYDNEY. 

Born in Essex, England, June 3, 1771 ; died in London, Feb. 
22, 1845. 

Receipt for Salad 426 

SMITS, DIRK. (Dutch.) 

Born in Rotterdam, June 20, 1702; died April 25, 1752. 

On the Death of an Infant. {II. & Van Dijk's 
iranslalion.) ICl 

SOUTHEY, CAROLINE BOWLES. 

Born in England, Dec. 6, 1786; died July 20, 1S54. 

Autumn Flowers 93 

The Pauper's Death-bed 500 

The Last Journey 501 

SOUTHEY, ROBERT. 

Born in Bristol, England, Aug. 12, 1774 ; died Jlarch 21, 1S43. 

Tho Holly Tree 110 

The Ine'iicape Roek 4S2 

Battle of Blenheim 604 

" My Days among the Dead " 723 

SOUTHEY, R. and C. 

Greenwood Shrift 721 

SPENCER, ROBERT WILLIAM. 
Born in England in 1770 ; died i834., 

To 1S3 

SPENSER, EDMUND. 

Bora in London in 1553; died Jan. 16, 1599. 

Sonnet 323 

Epithalamion 824 

STANLEY, THOMAS. 

Bora at Cumberlow Green, Eng., in 1625 ; died April 12, 1678. 

The Tomb 253 

The Exequies 254 

STERLING, JOHN. 

Born at Kaines Castle, Scotland, July 20, ISOG; died Sept. 18, 
1844. 

The Spine Tree 72 

The Husbandman 92 

To a Child 130 

Rose and the G.auntlet 304 

The Two Oceans 5S8 

Shakespeare 639 

BTERNHOLD, THOMAS. 

Born in Hampshire, England ; died Aug., 1549. 

PsalmXVIIL Part First 796 



Pago 

STILL, JOHN. 

Born in Grantham, England, in 1543; died in 1607. 

Good Ale. 401 

STODDARD, L.WINIA. 

Born in Guilford, Conn., June 29, 1787 ; died i J 1820. 

Sours Defiance.., C93 

STODDARD, RICHARD HENRY. 
Born in Iliugham, Mass., July, 1825. 

The Sea 460 

Tho Two Brides ('34 

There are Gains for all our Losses 61)3 

STODDAET," THOMAS T. 

Author of " Songs and Poems," Edinburgh, 1839. 

The Angler's Try sting Tree -\> 

STORY, WILLIAM W. 

Born in Salem, Mass., Feb. 19, 1819. 

The Violet 43 

STRODE, WILLIAM. 

Born in England in 1600; died in 1644. 

Music ^ 62j 

SUCKLING, SIR JOHN. 

Born in Whitton, England, in 1609 ; died Mtiy 7, 1641. 

Song— Why so Pale 2&0 

SURREY, LORD. 

Born in England about 1516 ; died Jan. 2' 1547. 

Description of Spring 10 

The Means to Attain Happy Life , 6G1 

SURVILLE. CLOTILDE DE. (Fkencii.) 

Born in Vallon-sur-Ardcche, France, about 1405 ; died in 1495. 

The Child Asleep. (^Longfellaid'siranslation.) 123 

SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES. 

Author of " Atalanta in Calydon" (London, 1S65), and other 
poems. 

" When the Hounds of Spring " 11 

SYLVESTER, JOSHUA. 

Bora in England in 1563 ; died in 1618. 

Contented Mind CC5 

TANNAHILL, ROBERT. 

Bora in Paisley, Scotland, June 3, 1774; died May 17, 1810. 

The Midges Dance aboon the Burn 79 

TATE AND BEADY. 

Nahum Tate, born in Dublin in 1652; died Aug. 19, 1715; 
Brady, bora in Bandon, Ireland, Oct. 28, 1659 ; died May 20, 1726. 

"Ps.alm SOI 

TAYLOR. BAYARD. 

Born in Kennett St^uare, Pennsylv.ania, Jan. 11, 1825. 

The Arab to the Palm 73 

Storm Song ; S'? 

The Phantom 514 

Hylas 509 

TAYLOR, HENRY. 

Born in England, about 1805, 

Remembrance of the Hon. Edward Ernest 

ViUicrs 506 

Song — Down lay in a Nook 0S5 

TAYLOR, JEREMY. 

Born in Cambridge, England, ia 1613; died Aug. 13, 1667. 

Of Heaven 791 

TENNYSON, ALFRED. 

Born in Lincolnshire, England, in 1810. 

Spring 11 

Song of the Brook 82 

Bugle Song In;) 

Evenins KU 

Song— The Owl lOG 

Second Song, to the same ICO 

Lullaby 119 

Widow and Child 1"'2 

The Reconciliation 1T2 

From " In Memoriam " ITS 

Day Dre.am 22T 

Lady Clare 236 

The Letters 237 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Pnee 

Come into the Garden, Maud 2GS 

U\\\0TS DauriitiT 2i 1 

Ask me no Wore ^;'U 

I^Iariana in the South -^-f 

Lockslcy Hall......... ^9° 

Oh, that it were Possible duu 

My Love has Talked °°}> 

Charge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava db-t 

Tlic "May Queen 492 

I)ii'ge "^^ 

Break, Break, Break ^25 

Davs that are no More O'fo 

Lady of Shallott 2'^ 

Contemplate all this Work < 02 

The t^trife ij.? 

Christmas ^^ 

776 

■■■. Ill 



VILLEGAS, MANUEL DE. 

Born in Najc-ra, Spain, in 1698 ; died in 16C9. 

The Mother Nightingale. {T. Roscoe s trans- 
lation.) 55 

VISSCIIEE, MARIA TESSELSCHABE. (Dutch.) 

Born in Amsterdam, in 15i)4 ; died Juno 20, 1649. 

The Nightingale. (J. Boicring's translation.) 55 

WxVLLEE, EDMUND. 

Born in Coleshill, Eng., March 3, 1605 ; died Oct. 21, 1687^ 

The Eose •' • • • • 43 



Oh yet we Trust. 
Mary 



TEEET, EOSE. 

Bom in Hartford, Conn., wLere she now Uvea. 

Trailing Arbutus 36 

Eeve du Midi "^ 

Then fl" 

Fishing Song "^-^ 

TEESTEEGEN, GEEMAED. (German.) 

Dorn in Westphalia, in 1697 ; was a ribbon-weaver. 

Divine Love. {J. Wesley's tramlation.) 7T9 

Hymn of Praise. {J. Weslei/s translation.).. 79i 

THACKERAY, WILLIMI MAKEPEACE. 

Born in Calcutta in ISU ; died in London, Dec. 24, 1853. 

Ballad of Bouiriabaisse 189 

The Mahogany Tree lif 

At the Church Gate 2.0 

-iWhite Squall f2i 

Battle of Limerick 4.ib 

Molony's Lament f^l 

Ml-. Molony's Account of the Ball fi^ 

Acre of Wisdom 6&8 

End of the Play 691 

THUELOW. LOED. 

Born June 10, 1781 ; died June 3, 1829. 

Song to May •" ; • • \^ 

Sonnet— The Crimson Moon lUo 

Sonnet— To a Bird that Haunted Lake Laaken. 113 

Sonnet— Immortal Beauty 630 

Sonnet— The Nightingale is Mute boo 

Sonnet— Who Best can Paint 657 

TOPLADY, AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE. 

Born in Farnham, England, in 1740 ; died Aug. 11, 17 ,8. 

Prayer, Living and Dying '1^58 

TEENCH. EICHAED CHENEVIX. 

Bom in England, Sept. 9, 1807. 

Hannosan 



595 



UHLAND, JOHANN LUDWIG. (German.) 

Born in Tubingen, Germany, April 26, 1787 ; died there, Nov. 
13, 1862. 

The Passage. {Anonymons translation.) ISO 

The Castle by the Sea. (Lonofellow's trans- 

lation.) • ■ ■ • • • • • • • 52-J 

The Lost Church. {Sarah U. Whitman's 

translation ) "^^ 

VAUGHAN, HENEY. 

Bom in Newton, England, in 1621 ; died in li'io. 

The Bee ™ 

Rules and Lessons ^Ji], 

The Feast ig" 

They are all Gone '*" 

Peace 



91 



WALLEE, JOHN FEANCIS. 

A Barrister of Dublin; boru about 1810. 

Spinning- Wheel Song 231 



WALTON, IZAAK. 

Born in Stafford, Eng., Aug. 9, 1593; died Dec. 15, 1683. 

The Angler's Wish 



VEEY, .JONES. 

Bom in Salem, Mass., about 1812. 

Nature 83 

The Latter Eain Jj 

The World <";♦ 

Spirit Land ^40 

VINCENTE, GIL. (Portitguese.) 

Bom in Vortugal, about 14»2 ; died about 1537. 

The Nightinaalo. {J. Boicring's translation.) 55 
She is a Maid. {Lonpfdlotc's tramlatioii.) . . . 270 



22 



WAETON, THOMAS. 

Born in Basingstoke, Eng., in 1728 ; died May 21, 1790. 

Inscription in a Hermitage 62 

WASTELL. SIMON. 

Bora in Westmoreland, Eng., about 1560; died abont 1630. 

Man's Mortality "iSf 

WATSON, THOMAS. 

Born in London ; died in 1591 or 1592. 

Canzonet -49 

WATTS, ISAAC. 

Born in Southampton, Eng., July 17, 1674 ; died Nov. 25, 174s. 

"Jesus Shall Eeign" J49 

Example of Christ ;io9 

Heavenly Canaan ' 8S 

Psalm XIX iP2 

PsalmXLVI '99 

Psalm LXV. Second Part 80O 

Psalm LXXIL First Part 801 

Psalm CXVII 802 

Creator and Creatures o"0 

WAUGH, EDWIN. 

A native of England ; now living. 

The Dule's i' this Bonnet o' Mine 283 

WELBY, AMELIA B. 

Born in St. Michaels, Maryland, in 1821. 

The Old Maid 635 

WESLEY, CHAELES. 

Born in Lincolnshire, England, in 1708 ; died in 17tb. 

Wrestling Jacob 

" Jesus, lover of my Soul " 

" Jesus, m V Strength, My Hope " 7bO 

" Eternal Beam of Light Divine i,oi 

" Friend of All " '?^ 

True Use of Music ^i,^ 

For Believers i.i° 

Desiring to Love * '^ 

Death ™* 

"Thou God Unsearchable" °^^ 

WESTWOOD, THOMAS. 

Author of " Berries and Blossoms"— London, IboO. 

Under my Window 1^° 

Little Belle 153 

WHITE, BLANCO. , , „ „„ ,.,« 

Bora in Spain, about 1773 ; died in England, May 20, 1S40. 

To Night 

WHITE, HENEY KIRKE. 

Bom in Nottingham, March 21, 1785 ; died Oct. 19, ISOb. 

To the Harvest Moon 1'^^ 

Solitude °-^ 

WHITTIEE, JOHN GEEENLEAF. 

Bora in Havevill, Mass., in 1808. 

Hampton Beach 8o 

Maud Muller g^° 

Our State 

Barbara Frictchie 

Ichabod 

Barclay of Ury %5 

To my Sister ^e* 

Burns "'^ 

Seed-Time and Harvest 



754 

760 
760 



106 



380 
SSI 
515 
59i 



713 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 
WILDE. PJCHArvD HENRY. 

Born in Dublin. Sept. 24, 17S9; died in New Orle.ws, Sept. 
10, 1847. 

Stanzas— My Life is Like 694 

WILLIAMS, EGBERT F0LK8T0NE. 

Author of *' Shaliespeare aud his Friends." — London, 1S38. 

Oh, fill the Wine-cup High 190 

WILLIAMSON, WILLIATSI CROSS. 

Born in Belfast, Me., Jan. 31, 1831. 

It Might Have Been 291 

WILLIS, KATHAlfflEL PARKER. 
Bom in Portland, Me., Jan. 20, 1807. 

Belfrey Piseon 07 

Saturciaj' Afternoon 143 

The Annoyer 2S3 

WILLMOTT, ROBERT ARIS. 

Author of various Religious Works ; also of ** Poems " — Lon- 
don, 1850 ; died in Oxfordshire, May 28, 1863. 

Child Praying 160 

WILSON, JOHN. 

Born in Paisley, Scotland, in 1788 ; died April 4, 1854. 

To a Sleeping Child 128 

WINSLOW, HARRIETT. 

Born in Portland, Me., about 1824. 

Why thus Longing C96 

mTHER, GEORGE. 

Born in Bentworth, Eng., June 11, 158S-, died May 2, 1667. 

Christmas 195 

Shepherd's Resolution 2S0 

The Nymph's Song ' C37 

The Shepherd's Hunting WO 

In a Clear Starry Night 742 

Twelfth Day, or the Epiphany 748 

Hymn— For Anniversary Marriage Days 770 

For a Widower or Widow 785 

Praise 795 

Poet's Hymn for Himself 795 

WOLFE, CHARLES. 

Born in Dublin, Dec. 14, 1791 ; died Feb. 21, 1823. 

Burial of Sir John Moore 517 

Song — Oh say not that my Heart 095 

WOODWORTH, SAMUEL. 

Born iu Scituate, Mass., Jan. 13, 17S5: died Dec. 9, 1812. 

The Bucket 606 

WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM. 

Born in Cockermouth, Eng., April 7, 1770 ; died April 2.1, ISoO. 

March 12 

Morning in London 16 

The Cuckoo 23 

The Green Linnet 28 

To the Small Celandine 84 

Daffodils 85 

To the Daisy 33 

To the same Flower 89 

Nightingale and the Dove 53 

Yarrow'Unvisited S7 

Tarrow Visited 88 

Yarrow Revisited 89 

Fidelity 91 

Influence of Natural Obiects 113 

Kitten and Falling Leaves 123 

ToH. C. six years old 128 

The Pet Lamb 133 

Idle Shepherd Boys 136 

Her Eyes are Wild 152 

Lucy Gray 154 

We are Seven 157 

Lucy 161 

To 272 

Sonnet 301 

Laodamia 819 

Sonnets , 391 

To a Highland Girl 632 

Solitary Reaper 633 

" She was a Phantom of Delight " 634 

At the Grave of Burns 651 

liesolution and Independence 658 

The Tables turned 675 

The Fountain 675 

Ode to Duty 695 

Ode — Intimations of Immortality 713 

Laborer's Noonday Hymn 767 



Pcgc 
WOTTON, SIR HENRY. 

Born in Bonghton Hall, Eng., March 30, 16G8 ; d. Dec, 1G39. 

Verses in Praise of Angling 21 

You Meaner Beauties 247 

Happy Life 711 

WYAT, SIR THOMAS. 

Born in AUington Castle, Eug., in 1503; died Oct. 11, 1542. 

An Earnest Suit 244 

XAVIER, ST. FRANCIS. (Latix.) 

Born in Xavier, Navarre, in 1506 ; died Dec. 2, 1552. 

My God, I Love Thee. (Edward, Cas-ueWs 
translation.) 753 

YOUL, EDWARD. 

A writer in *' Howitt's Journal " — London, ]S47-'8. 

Song of Spring 89 

ZEDLITZ, JOSEPH CHRISTIAN. (Gee^jin.) 
Born in Austrian Silesia, Fob. 28, 1790. 

The ^Midnight Review. {Anonymous trans- 
lation.) 574 

ANONYMOUS. 

The Useful Plough, mth Century, EngltHh.) . 63 
Rain on the Roof. (Wh Century, American.) . 77 

The Owl. (l~ith Century.) 108 

Little Boy Blue. (lOih 'Century, English.).. . 137 
Children in the Wood, (llt/i Ce7Uury, Eng- 
lish.) 149 

Lady Ann Bothwell's Lament. (17^/t Century, 

Scotch.) 151 

To a Child. (\Wi Oentvry, Eng/is/i.i 160 

My Playmates. (19^/t Century, English.) 102 

When shall we Three meet Again. (ISiA Cen- 

tuni, E)i(ilisli.) 175 

How Stands the Glass Around. (ISifA Century, 

English.) 1S7 

Sir Cauline. {Uth Century, English.) 199 

Nut-Brown M.aid. {\bth Century, EnriUsh.).. 204 
Y'oung Beichan and Susie Pye. (15?/t Century, 

Enqlish.) 208 

Lord Lovel. (16i!A Century, English.) 210 

Robin Hood and Allen-a-dale. (jLoth Century, 

English.) 211 

Truth's Integrity. (Idth Century, English.).. 212 
Spanish Lady's Love, (ioth Century, English.) 215 
Seaman's Happy Return. (Uth Century, Eng- 
lish.) 219 

Bridal of Andalla. (Spanisli, Lockharfs trans- 
lation.) 220 

Zara's Ear-rings. {Spanish, Lockharfs trans- 
lation.). . . . ." 280 

Watch Sons. {\Wi Century, German.) 232 

Old Story. "(lOWi Century, Irish.) 232 

The White Rose. {\'th Veniury, English.)... 244 

Love not Me. (Wth Century, English) 253 

Kuluasatz, my Reinc'eer. (Icelandic, anony- 
mous translation.) 257 

Annie Laurie. (ISWt Century, Scotch.) 202 

Summer Days. {VMh Century, English.) 269 

Oh ! tell me Love, the dearest Hour. (19</i Cen- 
tury, English.) 272. 

Maiden's Choice. (18i!A Century, English.) . . 230 
Deceitfulness of Love. (17i!/t Century, Eng- 
lish.) 231 

Coming Through the Rye. {\%th Century, 

Scotch.) r 284 

Love Unrequited. {\9th Century, American.) 286 
Waly, Walv, but Love be Bonny, {loth Cen- 
tury, Scotch.) 302 

Winilreda. {ISth Century, English.) 323 

Bull-fight of Gazul. {Spanish, lockharfs 

translation.) 847 

Chevy Cliase. {loth Centttry, English.) 349 

Prince Eugene. {ISih Century, German, John 

IIughes\i translation.) 351 

When Banners are Waving. {Itth Century, 

Scotrh.) 861 

Here's to the Kinff, Sir ! {\Wi Century, Scotch.) 865 
Charlie is my Darling. (18</t Century, Scotch.) 866 
Gallant Grahams. (ISC/t Century, Scotch.). . . . 366 
Slian Van Vocht. {ISth Century, Irish.) . ... 372 
God save the King. (17i;/t Century, English.) 873 
Sea Fight. {VJih Century, English.) 386 



IXDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Pace 

Heir of Linne. (lO^i. Century, Engllnh.) 397 

Drajroa of Wantley {\~th Century, Eiir/lUh, 

C. Piitmore's version.) 400 

Jovial BcRprar. (lith Century, Englifik.) 401 

Take thy oUl Cloak about Tlioc. (15i!/i Century, 

EnglMi.) 402 

Malbrouck. {French, Father ProuCs trans- 
lation.) 403 

Old and Young Courtier. {\lth Century, Eng- 
lish.) 404 

Essence of Opera. {French, anonymous trans- 
lation.) 426 

St. Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes. (English.) 440 

Vicar of Bray. (18^/i Centuri/, English.) 441 

Sir Patrick Spens. (15</t Century. Scotch.) .. . 44T 

Child Noryce. {\oth Century, Scotch.) 448 

Fair Annio of Lochroyan. (\^th Century, 

Scotch.) 449 

Dowie Dens of Yarrow, (loth Century, 

Scotch.) 451 

Eare Willy Drowned in Yarrow. (15th Cen- 
tury. Scotch.) 453 

Cruel Sister. (15//t Century, Scotch.) 454 

Lord Randal. (i5th Century, Scotch.) 456 

Edward, Kdward. (ISth Century, Scotch.)..., 456 

Twa Brothers. (15^ Century, Scotch.) 457 

Twa Corbies, (loth Century, Scotch.) 458 

Bonnie George Campbell. (11th Century, 

Scotch.) 458 

Lament of the Border Widow, (llth Century, 

Scotch.) 458 

Fair Helen. (1S<A Century, Scotch.) 459 

Lamentation for Celin. (Spanish, LocVharVs 
translation.) 473 



Very Mournful Ballad. (Spa7iish, Byron^s " 

translation.) 474 

Young Airly, (mh Century, Scotch.) ........ 4S9 

King Arthur's Death. (lUh Century, Eng- 
lish.) 529 

Thomas the Rhymer. (\Uh Century, Scotch.) 5.31 

The Wee, wee Man. (IWi Century. Scotch.) . . 532 
Merry Pranks of Kobin Good FeUow. (Xlth 

Century, English.) 533 

Fairy Queen, (yith Century, English.) 534 

Song of Fairies, (llih Century, English.) 535 

Lords of Thule. (German, anonytnous trans- 
lation.) fb 593 

Balder. (lUh Century, English.) 5rt0 

Song of the Forge. (19^4 Century, English.) . 60' 

The Lye. (llth Century, English.) 605 

Smoking Spiritualized. (17;fA Century, Eng- 
lish.) 679 

Time's Cure. (19^/4 Century, English.) 692 

Time is a Feathered Thing. (VUh Century, 

English) 693 

The Sturdy Rock. (11th Century, Engllih.) . 717 

Life and Death. (IWi Century, English.) 720 

Lines on a Skeleton. (19<A Century, Eng- 
lish.) 728 

Evening. (IWb Century, English.) 743 

" I Journey through a Desert " 753 

In the Desert of the Holy Land. (19^/;. Cen- 
tury, American.) 764 

Oh, Fear not Thou to Die. (19<A Century, 

English.) 780 

New Jerusalem. (Latin, anonymous tram- 

lation.) 788 

God is Love, (l^th Century, English.) SOS 



PART I. 

POE^IS OF NATURE 



The world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : 
Little we see in nature that is ours ; 
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; 
The winds that will be howling at all hours. 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; 
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; 
It moves us not. — Great God ! I'd rather be 
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea. 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 

"WOEDSWOETir. 



POEMS OF :N'ATUP.E. 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 

ARGUMENT. 

A gentlewoman out of an arbour in a grove, seeth a gi-eat 
companic of knights and ladies in a daunce upon the 
greone grasse ; the which being ended, they all kneele 
downo, and do honour to the daisie, some to the flower, 
and some to the leafe. Afterward this gentlewoman 
learneth by one of these ladies the meaning hereof, 
which is this: They which honour the flower, a thing 
fading with every blast, are such as looko after be.antie 
and worldly pleasure. But they that honour the leafc, 
which abideth with the root, notwithstanding the frosts 
and winter stormcs, are they which follow vertue and 
during qualities, without regard of worldly respects. 

WitAiT that Phebus his chair of gohi so hie 
Had whirled up the sterry sky alofte, 
And ill the boole was entred certainly : 
Wiieu shoures sweet of raine descended softe, 
Causing the ground, fele times and ofte, 
Up for to give many an wholsome aire, 
And every plaine was yclothed faire 

With newe greeno, and maketh smale floures 
To springen here and there in fielde and 

mede ; 
So very good and wholsome be the shoures. 
That it renueth that was olde and dede 
In winter time ; and out of every sede 
Springeth the herbe, so that every wight 
Of this season wexeth glad and light. 

And I, so glad of the season swete, 

Was happed thus upon a certaine night: — 

As I lay in my bedde, sleepe ful unmete 

Was unto me, but why tliat I ne might 

Rest, I ne wist ; for there nas earthly wight, 

As I suppose, had more hertes ease 

Tlian I, for I nad sickncsse nor disease. 



Wlici-ofore 1 mervaile greatly of my selfe, 
That I so long withouten sleepe lay ; 
And up I rose three houres after tweife, 
About the springing of the day ; 
And I put on my geare and mine array, 
And to a pleasaunt grove I gan passe. 
Long er the bright sunne up risen was ; 

Li which were okes grete, streight as a line. 
Under the which the grasse, so fresh of hewe, 
Was newly sprong; and an eight foot or nine 
Every tree wel fro his fellow grew, 
With branches brode, laden with leves newe. 
That sprongen out ayen the sunneshene, 
Some very redde, and some a glad light grene: 

Which, as me thought, was rig'it a pleasant 

sight ; 
And eke the briddes songe for to here 
Would have rejoiced any earthly wight; 
And I that couth not yet, in no manere, 
Ileare the nightingale of al the yeare, ' 
Ful busily herkened with herte and eare. 
If I lier voice perceive coud any Avhcre. 

And, at the last, a patli of little brede 
I found, that greatly had not used be ; 
For it forgrowen was with grasse and weede, 
That wel unnetli a wiglite might it se : 
Thought I, "This patli some winder goth, 

parde ! " 
And so I followed, till it me brought 
To right a pleasaunt herber, well ywrought, 

That benched was, and with turfes newe 

Freshly turvcd, whereof the grene gras, 

So smale, so thicke, so shorte, so fresh of hewe. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Tliat most like vinto grene wool, wot I, it was : 
Tlie begge also that yede in compas, 
And closed in al the grene herbere, 
With sicamour was set and eglatere, 

Wrethen in fere so wel and cnnningly, 

That every branch and leafe grew by mesure, 

Plaine as a bord, of an heiglit by and by. 

I see nevei" thing, I yon ensure. 

So Avel done ; for he that tooke the cure 

It to make, y trow, did all his peine 

To make it passe alle tho that men have seine. 

And shapen was this herber, roofe and alle, 
As a prety parlour ; and also 
Tlie hegge as thicke as a castle walle, 
That who that list without to stond or go. 
Though he wold al day prien to and fro, 
He should not see if there were any wight 
Within or no ; but one within wel might 

Perceive all tho thot yeden there withoute 
In the field, that was on every side 
Covered with corn and grasse ; that out of 

doubt, 
Though one wold seeke alle the world wide, 
So rich a fielde cold not be espide 
On no coast, as of the quantity ; 
For of alle good thing there was plenty. 

And I that al this pleasaunt sight sie, 
Thought sodainely I felt so swete an aire 
Of tlie eglentere, that certainely 
Tliere is no herte, I deme, in such dispaire, 
Ne with thoughtes froward and contraire 
So overlaid, but it should soone have bote. 
If it had ones felt this savour sole. 

And as I stood and cast aside mine eie, 

I was Avare of the fairest medler tree. 

That ever yet in alle my life I sie. 

As ful of blossomes as it might be ; 

Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile 

Fro bough to bough ; and, as him list, he eet 

Here and there of buddes and floures swete. 

And to the herber side Avas joyninge 
This faire tree, of which I have you tolde, 
And at the laste the brid began to singe. 
Whan lie had eeten Avhat he ete wolde. 
So passing swetely, that by raanifolde 



It was more pleasaunt than I coud devise. 
And whan his song was ended in this wise, 

The nightingale with so mery a note 
Answered him, that al the wood ronge 
So sodainely, that as it were a sote, 
I stood astonied ; so was I with the song 
Thorow ravished, that til late and longe, 
I ne wist in what place I was, ne wliere ; 
And ayen, me thought, she songe ever bj 
mine ere. 

Wlierefore I waited about busily, 
On every side, if I her might see ; 
And, at the laste, I gan ful wel aspy 
Where she sat in a fresh grene laurer tree, 
On the further side, even right by me. 
That gave so passinge a delicious smelle, 
According to the eglentere ful welle. 

Whereof I had so inly great pleasure. 
That, as me thought, I surely ravished was 
Into Paradise, where my desire 
Was for to be, and no ferther passe 
As for that day ; and on the sote grasse 
I sat me downe ; for, as for mine entent, 
The briddes song was more convenient, 

And more pleasaunt to me by many folde, 
Than meat or drinke, or any other thinge. 
Thereto the herber was so fresh and colde. 
The wholesome savours eke so comfortinge. 
That, as I denied, sith the beginninge 
Of the A^'orld was never scene or than 
So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man. 

And as I sat, the brids hearkening thus, 
Me thought that I heard voices sodainely, 
The most sweetest and most delicious 
Tliat ever any Avight, I trowe truely, 
Heard in their life ; for the armony 
And sweet accord was in so good musike, 
That the voice to angels most was like. 

At the last, out of a grove even by. 

That was right goodly and pleasaunt to sight, 

I sie where there came, singing lustily, 

A world of ladies ; but, to tell aright 

Their grete beauty, it lieth not in my might, 

Ne their array ; neverthelesse I shalle 

Telle you a part, though I speake not of alle. 



THE FLO^VER AXD THE LEAF. 



The surcotes -white, of velvet wele sittinge, 

They were in cladde, and the semes echone, 

As it were a manere garnishinge, 

Was set with emerauds, one and one, 

By and by ; but many a riche stone 

Was set on the purfiles, out of doute, 

Of collers, sieves, and traines round aboute. 

As grete pearles, rounde and orient, 

Diamondes fine, and rubies redde. 

And many another stone, of which I went 

The names now ; and everich on her hedde 

A rich fret of gold, which without dread. 

Was ful of stately riche stones set ; 

And every lady had a chapelet 

On her hedde of branches fresh and grenc, 
So wele wrought and so marvelously, 
That it was a noble sight to sene ; 
Some of laurer, and some ful pleasauntly 
Had chapelets of woodbind, and saddely 
Some of agnus casfus ware also 
Chapelets freslie; but there were many of tho 

Tliat daunced and eke songe ful soberly. 
But alle they yede in manner of compace ; 
But one there yede in mid the company. 
Sole by her selfe ; but alle followed the pace 
That she kepte, whose hevenly figured face 
So pleasaunt was, and her wele shape person, 
Tliat of beauty she past hem everichon. 

And more richly beseene, by many folde, 
She was also in every maner thing : 
On her hedde ful pleasaunt to beholde, 
A crowne of golde rich for any king : 
A braunch of agnus castus eke bearing 
In her hand ; and to my sight truelj 
She lady was of the company. 

And she began a roundel lustely, 
Tliat '■'• Suse lefoyle^ devers Twoy," men calle, 
^^ Siene et monjoly couer est endormy^'' 
And than the company answered alle, 
With voices sweet entuned, and so smale, 
Tliat me thought it tlie sweetest melody 
That ever I heard in my life sothly. 

And thus they came, dauncinge and singinge. 
Into the middes of the mede echone, 
Before the herber where I was sittinge ; 
And, God wot, me thought I was wel bigone ; 



For than I might avise hem one by one, 
Who fairest was, wlio coud best dance or 

singe, 
Or who most womanly Avas in alle thinge. 

They had not daunced but a little thro we, 

Whan that I hearde ferre of sodainely. 

So great a noise of thunderin^rumpes blowe. 

As though it should have departed the skie 

And, after that, within a whUe I sie. 

From the same grove where the ladies came 

oute. 
Of men of armes cominge such a route, 

As alle the men on earth had been assembled 
In that place, wele horsed for the nones, 
Steringe so fast, that al the earth trembled : 
But for to speke of riches and of stones, 
And men and horse, I trowe the large wones, 
Of Prestir John, ne all his tresory. 
Might not unneth have boght the tenth party 

Of their array : who so list heare more, 

I shal rehearse so as I can a lite. 

Out of the grove, that I spake of before, 

I sie come firste, al in their clokes white, 

A company, that ware, for their delite, 

Chapelets freshe of okes seriaUe, 

Xewly sprong, and trumpets they were alle. 

On every trumpe hanging a broad banere 
Of fine tartarium were ful richely bete ; 
Every trumpet his lordes armes here ; 
About their neckes, with great pearles sete, 
Collers brode ; for cost they would not lete, 
As it would seem, for their scochones echone, 
Were set aboute with many a precious stone. 

Their horse harneis was al white also. 
And after them next in one company. 
Came kinges of armes, and no mo. 
In clokes of white cloth of gold richely , 
Chapelets of greene on their hedes on liie ; 
The crownes that they on theii scochones bert 
Were sette with pearle, ruby, and saphere. 

And eke great diamondes many one : 
But al their horse harneis and other gere 
Was in a sute accordinge, evei-ichone. 
As ye have herd the foresaid trumpetes wei'e; 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And by seeminge, they were nothing to lere, 
And their guidinge they did so nitinerly. 
And, after hem, came a great company 

Of lierandes and piirsevanntes eke, 
Arraied in clothes of white velvette, 
And, hardily, they were no thing to seke. 
How they on thera should the harneis sette ; 
And every man had on a chapelet ; 
Scochones, and eke harneis, indede, 
They had in snte of hem that fore hem yede. 

Xext after hem came, in armour bright 
All save their heades, seemely knightes nine; 
And every claspe and naile, as to my sight. 
Of their harneis were of rad golde fine ; 
With cloth of gold, and furred with ermine 
Were the trappoures of their stedes stronge. 



And every bosse of bridle and paitrel 
That they had, was worth, as I wold wene, 
A thousand pounde ; and on their heddes, wel 
Dressed, were crownes of laurer grene, 
The best made that ever I had sene ; 
And every knight had after him ridinge 
Three henchemen on hem awai tinge. 

Of whiche every first, on a short tronchoun, 
His lordes helme bare, so richly dight, 
That the worst was worthe the ransoun 
Of any king; the second a shield bright 
Bare at his backe ; the thred bare upright 
A mighty spere. full sharpe ground and kene, 
And every cliilde ■s^'are of leaves grene 

A fresh chapelet upon his haires bright ; 
And clokes white of fine velvet they ware ; 
Their steedes trap])ed and raied right, 
Without difference, as their lordes were ; 
And after hem, on many a fresh corsere, 
There came of armed knightes such a route. 
That they besprad the large field aboute. 

And al they ware, after their degrees, 
Chapelets newe made of laurer grene; 
Some of the oke, and some of other trees, 
Some in their bonds bare boughes shene. 
Some of laurer, and some of okes kene, 



Some of hauthorne, and some of the wood 

binde, 
And many mo which I had not in minde. 

And so they came, their horses freshely ster- 

inge. 
With bloody sownes of hir trompes loude ; 
There sie I many an uncouth disguisinge 
In the array of these knightes proude. 
And at the last, as evenly as they coude. 
They took their places in middes of the mede, 
And every knight turned his horses hede 

To his fellow, and lightly laid a spere 

In the rest ; and so justes began 

On every part about, here and there ; 

Some brake his spere, some drew down hor.'^ 

and man ; 
About the field astray the steedes ran ; 
And, to behold their rule and governaunce, 
I you ensure, it was a great pleasaunce. 

And so the justes laste an houre and more; 
But tho that crowned were in laurer grene 
Wanne the prise ; their dintes was so sore. 
That there was none ayent hem might sustene 
And the justinge al was left off clene. 
And fro their horse the ninth alight anone, 
And so did al the remnant everichone. 

And forth they yede togider, twain and twain 
That to beholde it was a worthy sight. 
Toward the ladies on the grene plain. 
That songe and daunced, as I said now riglit 
The ladies, as soone as they goodly might. 
They brake of both the song and daunce. 
And yede to meet hem witli ful glad sem- 
blaunce. 

And every lady tooke, ful womanly. 
By the bond a knight, and forth they yede 
Unto a faire laurer that stood fast by, 
With levis lade, the boughes of grete brede : 
And to my dome there never was, indede, 
Man that had scene halfe so faire a tre ; 
For underneath there might it well have be 

An hundred persones, at their owne plesaunce 
Shadowed fro the hete of Phebus bright, 
So that they sholde have felt no grevaunce 
Of raine ne haile that hem hurte might. 
The savour eke rejoice would any wight 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



Tliat had be sicke or raelancolious, 
It was so very good and vei-tuous. 

And with great reverence they inclined lowe 
To the tree so soote, and faire of hewe ; 
And after that, within a little throAve, 
They began to singe and daunce of newe 
Some songe of love, some plaininge of imtrewe, 
Environinge the tree that stood upright ; 
And ever yede a lady and a knight. 

And at the last I cast mine eye aside. 
And was ware of a lusty company 
Tliat come rominge out of the field wide, 
Ilond in bond a knight and a lady ; 
The ladies all in surcotes, that richely 
Purfiled were with many a riche stone, 
And every knight of grene ware mantles on, 

Embrouded wel so as the surcotes Avere : 
And everich had a chapelet on her hedde. 
Which did right well upon the shining here, 
Made of goodly floures white and redde ; 
The knightes eke, that they in honde ledde. 
In sute of hem ware chapelets everichone. 
And before hem went minstreles many one. 

As harpes, pipes, lutes, and sautry, 

AUe in greene ; and on their heades bare. 

Of divers floures, made ful craftely, 

Al in a sute, goodly chapelets they ware ; 

And, so dauncinge into the mede they fare. 

In mid the which they foun a tuft that was 

Al oversprad with floures in compas. 

Whereto they euclined everichone 

With great reverence, and that ful humbly ; 

And, at the laste, there began anono 

A lady for to singe right womanly 

A bargeret in praising the daisie ; 

For, as me thought, among her notes swete. 

She said "/S'i doiice est la Margaretcy 

Than they alle answered her in fere, 
So passingely wel, and so pleasauntly, 
That it was a blisful noise to here. 
But, I not how, it happed sodainely 
As about noone, the sunne so fervently 
Waxe bote, that the prety tender floures 
Find lost the beauty of hir fresh coloures, 



Forshronke with heat; the ladies eke to-brent, 
That they ne wiste where they hem might 

bestowe ; 
The knightes swelt, for lack of shade nie sheut ; 
And after that, within a little throwe. 
The wind began so sturdily to blowe, 
That down goeth all the floures everichone, 
So that in al the mede there left not one ; 

Save such as succoured were among the leves 
Fro every storme that might hem assaile, 
Growinge under the hegges and thicke greves; 
And after that there came a storme of haile 
And raine in fere, so that, withouten faile, 
The ladies ne the knightes nade o threed 
Drie on them, so dropping was hir weed. 

And whan the storm was cleane passed away, 
Tho in white that stoode under the tree. 
They felte nothing of the grete affray. 
That they in greene withoi;te had in ybe ; 
To them they yede for routhe and pite. 
Them to comforte after their great disease. 
So faine they Avere the helplesse for to ease. 

Than I Avas Avare how one of hem in grene 
Had on a crowne, rich and wel sittinge ; 
Wherefore I demed wel she was a queue. 
And tho in grene on her were awaitinge ; 
The ladies then in white that were comminge 
ToAvard them, and the knightes in fere, 
Began to comforte hem, and make hem chere. 

The queen in white, that was of grete beauty, 
Took by the bond the queen that was in grene, 
And said, " Suster, I have right great pity 
Of your annoy, and of the troublous tene. 
Wherein ye and your company have bene 
So longe, alas ! and if that it you please 
To go with me, I shall do you the ease, 

" In all the pleasure that I can or may : " 
Whereof the other, humbly as she might, 
Thanked her ; for in right il array 
She was Avith storm and heat, I you behight 
And every lady, then anone right. 
That Avere in Avhite, one of them took in grene 
By the bond; which AA'han the knights Iiad 
sene. 



3 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



In like wise ech of tLera tooke ii knight 
Cladde in greene, and fortlie with hem they 

fare, 
To an hegge, where they anon right, 
To make their justes, they wolde not spare 
Boughes to hewe down, and eke trees square, 
"Wherwith they made hem stately fires grete. 
To drye their clothes that were wringinge 

wete. 

And after that, of herbes that there grewe. 
They made, for blisters of the sunne breu- 

ninge, 
Very good and wholesome ointmentes new. 
Wherewith they yede the sick fast anointinge ; 
And after that they yede about gaderinge 
Pleasaunt salades, which they made hem ete, 
For to refreshe their great unkindly hete. 

The lady of the Leafe than began to praye 
Her of the Floure (for so to my seeminge 
They sholde be, as by their arraye) 
To soupe with her, and eke, for any thinge. 
That she shold with her alle her people bringe : 
And she ayen, in right goodly manere. 
Thanked her of her most friendly chere. 

Saying plainely, that she would obaye 
With all her herte, all her commaundement ; 
And then anon, without lenger delaye. 
The lady of the Leafe hath one ysent. 
For a palfray, after her intent. 
Arrayed wel and faire in harneis of gold. 
For nothing lacked, that to him long shold. 

And after that, to al her company 
She made to purveye horse and every thinge 
That they needed ; and than ful lustily. 
Even by the herber where I was sittinge 
They passed alle, so pleasantly siuginge. 
That it would have comforted any wight. 
But than I sie a passing wonder sight ; 

For than the nightingale, that al the day 
Had in the laurer sate, and did her might 
The whole service to singe longing to May, 
All sodainely began to take her flight ; • 
And to the lady of the Leafe, forthright. 
She flew, and set her on her hond softely. 
Which was a thing I marveled of gretely. 

The goldfinch eke, that fro the medler tree 
Was fled for heat into the bushes colde, 



Unto the lady of the Floure gan flee, 
And on her hond lie sit him as he wolde. 
And pleasauntly his winges gan to fold ; 
And for to singe they pained hem both, as soro 
As they had do of al the day before. 

And so these ladies rode forth a great pace, 
And al the rout of knightes eke in fere ; 
And I that had seen al this wonder case, 
Thought I wold assaye in some manere, 
To know fully the trouth of this matere ; 
And what they were that rode so pleasauntly. 
And whan they were the herber passed by, 

I drest me forth, and happed to mete anone 
Eight a faire lady, I do you ensure; 
And she came riding by herselfe alone, 
Alle in white; with semblance ful demure, 
I salued her, and bad good aventure 
Might her befalle, as I coud most humbly ; 
And she answered, " My doughter, gra- 
mercy ! " 

"Madame," quoth I, "if that I durst enquere 
Of you, I would faine, of that company, 
Wite what they be that past by this ai-bere? " 
And she ayen answered right fiiendely : — 
"My faire doughter, alle tho that passed 

here by 
In white clothing, be servaunts everichone 
Unto the Leafe, and I my selfe am one. 

"See ye not her that crowned is," quoth she, 
"Alle in white?"— "Madame," quoth I, "yes:" 
"That is Diane, goddesse of chastite ; 
And for because that she a maiden is, 
In her honde the braunch she beareth this, 
That agmis castns men calle properly ; 
And alle the ladies in her company, 

"Which ye se of that herbe chapelets weare. 
Be such as han kept alway hir maidenheed : 
And alle they that of laurer chapelets beare. 
Be such as hardy were, and manly in deed, — 
Victorious name which never may be dede ! 
And alle they were so worthy of hir hond, 
In hir time, that none might hem withstond. 

"And tho that weare chapelets on their hede 
Of fresh woodbinde, be such as never were 
To love untrue in word, thought, ne dede. 
But aye stedfast; ne for pleasaunce, ne fere. 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



Though that they sliould their hertes all to- 

tere, 
Would never flit but ever were stedfast, 
Til that their lives there asunder hrast." 

"Now faire Madame," quoth I, "yet I would 

jjraye 
Your ladiship, if that it mighte he, 
That I might knowe by some maner wave, 
(Sith that it hath liked your beaute, 
The trouth of these ladies for to tell me ;) 
What that these knightes be in rich armour. 
And what tho be in grene and weare the flour ? 

"And why that some did reverence to that 

tre, 
And some unto the plot of floures faire ? " 
"With right good will, my faire doughter," 

quoth she, 
" Sith your desire is good and debonaire ; 
The nine crowned be very exem2:)laire 
Of al honour longing to chivalry ; 
And those certaine be called the Nine Worthy, 

"AVhich ye may see now ridinge alle before. 
That in hir time did many a noble dede. 
And for their worthines ful oft have bore 
The crowne of laurer leaves on their hede, 
As ye may in your olde bookes rede ; 
And how that he that was a conquerour, 
Had by laurer alway his most honour. 

"And tho that beare bowes in their honde 
Of the precious laurer so notable. 
Be such as were, I wol ye understonde, 
Noble knightes of the round table, 
And eke the Douseperis honourable, 
Which they beare in signe of victory ; 
It is witnesse of their deedes mightily. 

"Eek there be knightes olde of the garter, 
That in hir time did right worthily ; 
And the honour they did to the laurer, 
Is for by it they have their laud wholly. 
Their triumph eke, and martial glory ; 
Which unto them is more parfite richessc, 
Than any wight imagine can or gesse. 

"For one leafe, given of that noble tree 
To any wight that hath done worthily. 
And it be done so as it ought to be. 
Is more honour than any thing earthly; 
6 



Witnes of Eome that founder was truly 
Of alle knighthood and deeds marvelous ; 
Record I take of Titus Livius. 

"And as for her that crowned is in greene, 
It is Flora, of these floures goddesse ; 
And all that here on her awaiting beene, 
It are such folk that loved idlenesse. 
And not delite in no businesse. 
But for to liunte and hauke, and pleye in 

modes. 
And many other suchlike idle dedes. 

"And for the great delite and pleasaunce 
They have to the floui;e, and so reverently 
They unto it do such obeisaunce, 
As ye may se." — " Now faire Madame," 

quoth I, 
"If I durst aske, what is the cause and wliy, 
That knightes have the ensigne of honour, 
Rather by the leafe than the floure ? " 

" Soothly, doughter," quod she, "this is the 

trouth : — 
For knightes ever should be persevering, 
To seeke honour without feintise or slouth, 
Fro wele to better in all manner thinge ; 
In signe of which, with leaves aye lastinge, 
They be rewarded after their degre. 
Whose lusty grene may not appaired be, 

" But aie keping their beaute fresh and 

greene ; 
For there nis storme that may hem deface, 
Haile nor snow, winde nor frostes kene ; 
Wherfore they have this property fyid grace. 
And for the floure, within a little space 
WoUe be lost, so simple of nature 
They be, that they no greevance may endure ; 

"And every storme will blowe them soone 

awaye, 
Ne they laste not but for a sesone ; 
That is the cause, the very trouth to save, 
That they may not, by no way of resone. 
Be put to no such occupation." 
" Madame," quoth I, " with al mine Avliok 

servise 
I thanke you now, in my most humble wise ; 

"For now I am ascertained thurghly. 
Of every thing that I desired to knowe." 
"I am right glad that I have said, sothly, 



10 



POEMS OF NATURE, 



Ouglit to your pleasure, if ye wille me trowe," 
Quod slie ayen, "but to whom do ye owe 
Your service? And which wille ye honoure, 
Tel me I pray, this yere, the Leafe or the 
Floure?" 

" Madame," quoth I, " though I be least 

worthy. 
Unto the Leafe I owe mine observaunce : " 
"That is," quod she, "right wel done cer- 
tainly ; 
And I pray God to honour you avaunce, 
And kepe you fro the wicked remembraunce 
Of Malebouche, and all his crueltie, 
And alle that good and well conditioned be, 

"For here may I no lenger now abide, 

I must followe the great company. 

That ye may see yonder before you ride." 

And forth, as I couth, most humbly, 

I tooke my leve of her, as she gan hie 

After them as faste as ever she might , 

And I drow homeward, for it was nigh night. 

And put al that I had scene in writing. 
Under support of them that lust it to rede. 
little booke, thou art so unconning, 
HoAv darst thou put thy self in prees for drede ? 
It is wonder that thou wexest not rede ! 
Sith that thou wost ful lite who shall behold 
Thy rude langage, ful boistously unfold. 

Geoffrey Chaitcek. 



DESCEIPTION OF SPRmO. 

The soote season, that bud and bloom forth 
brings, 
"\Yitli green hath clad the hill, and eke the 
vale ; 
The nightingale with feathers new she sings; 
The turtle to her make hath told her tale. 
Summer is come, for every spray now springs; 
The hart hath hung his old head on the 
pale, 
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; 

The fishes flete with new repaired scale ; 
The adder all her slough away she flings ; 
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale ; 



The busy bee her honey now she mings ; 

Winter is worn that was the flowres' bale. 
And thus I see among these pleasant things 
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs. 

LoKD Strr.RET. 



THE AlES OF SPEING. 

Sweetly breathing, vernal air. 
That with kind warmth doth repair 
Winter's ruins ; from whose breast 
All the gums and spice of th' East 
Borrow theu' perfumes ; whose eye 
Gilds the morn, and clears the sky ; 
Whose disheveled tresses shed 
Pearls upon the violet bed ; 
On whose brow, with calm smiles drest 
The halcyon sits and builds her nest ; 
Beauty, youth, and endless spring. 
Dwell upon thy rosy wing ! 

Thou, if stormy Boreas throws 
Down whole forests when he blows, 
With a pregnant, flowery birth. 
Canst refresh the teeming earth. 
If he nip the early bud ; 
If he blast what's fair or good ; 
If he scatter our choice flowers ; 
If he shake our halls or bowers ; 
If his rude breath threaten us, 
Thou canst stroke great tEoIus, 
And from him the grace obtain. 
To bind him in an iron chain. 

Thomas Caeew 



RETUEN OF SPRING. 

God shield ye, heralds of the spring, 
Ye faithful swallows, fleet of wing, 

Houps, cuckoos, nightingales. 
Turtles, and every wilder bird, 
That make your hundred chirpings heard 

Through the green woods and dales. 

God shield ye, Easter daisies all, 
Fair roses, buds, aud blossoms small. 



EARLY SPRING. 



11 



Aud he whom erst the gore 
Of Ajax and Narciss did print, 
Ye wild thyme, anise, balm, and mint, 

I welcome ye once more. 

God shield ye, bright embroidered train 
Of butterflies, that on the plain. 

Of each sweet herblet sip •, 
And ye, new swai'ms of bees, that go 
"Where the pink flowers and yellow grow. 

To kiss them with your lip. 

A hundred thousand times I call 
A hearty welcome on ye all : 

This season how I love — 
This merry din on every shore — 
For winds and storms, whose sullen roar 

Forbade my steps to rove. 

Pierre Eonsard (French). 
Auonvmous Translation. 



tiPEING 

Dip down upon the northern shore, 
O sweet new year, delaying long ; 
Thou doest expectant nature wrong, 

Delaying long ; delay no more. 

What stays thee fi'om the clouded noons, 
Thy sweetness from its proper place ? 
Can trouble live with April days, 

Or sadness in the summer moons ? 

Bring orchis, bring the fox-glove spire, 
The little speedwell's darling blue. 
Deep tulips dashed with fiery dew. 

Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire. 

O thou, new year, delaying long, 
Delayest the sorrow in my blood. 
That longs to burst a frozen bud. 

And flood a fresher throat with song. 



Xow fades the last long streak of snow ; 
Xow burgeons every maze of quick 
^Vbout the flowering squares, and thick 

By ashen roots the violets blow. 

Xow I'ings the woodland loud and long. 
The distance takes a lovelier hue. 



And drowned in yonder living blu« 
The lark becomes a sightless song. 

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, 
The flocks are whiter down the vale, 
And milkier every milky sail, 

On winding stream or distant sea ; 

Where now the seamew pipes, or dives 
In yonder greening gleam, and fly 
The happy birds, that change their sky 

To build and brood, that live their lives 

From land to land ; and in my breast 
Spring wakens too : and my regret 
Becomes an April violet, 

And buds and blossoms like the rest. 

Alfred Tesntson. 



"WHEN THE HOUNDS OF SPPvING." 

WnEX the hounds of spring are on winter's 
traces. 

The mother of months in meadow or plain 
Fills the shadows and windy places 

With lisp of leaves and rippfe of rain ; 
And the brown bright nightingale amorous 
Is half assuaged for Itylus, 
For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces; 

The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. 

Come with bows bent and with emptying of 
quivers. 
Maiden most perfect, lady of light, 
With a noise of winds and many rivers, 

With a clamor of waters, and with might ; 
Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet. 
Over the splendor and speed of thy feet ! 
For the faint east quickens, the wan west 
shivers. 
Pound the feet of the day and the feet of 
the night. 

Where shall we find her, how shall we sing 
to her, 
Fold our hands round her knees and cling ? 
Oh that man's heart were as fire and could 
spring to her. 
Fire, or the strength of the streams that 
spring! 



12 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



For the stars and the winds are unto her 
As raiment, as songs of the harp-plajer ; 
For the risen stars and the Mien chng to her, 
And the south-west wind and the west 
wind sing. 

For winter's rains and ruins are over, 

And all the season of snows and sins ; 
The days didding lover and lover, 

The light tliat loses, the night that wins ; 
And time rememhercd is grief forgotten. 
And frosts are slain and flowers hegotten. 
And in green underwood and cover 
Blossom by blossom the spring begins. 

The full streams feed on flower of rushes, 
Eipe grasses trammel a travelling foot. 
The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes 

From leaf to flower and flower to fruit ; 
And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire. 
And the oat is heard above the lyre. 
And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes 
The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root. 

And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night. 
Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid. 
Follows with dancing and fills with delight 

The Mcenad' and the Bassarid ; 
And soft as lips that laugh and hide. 
The laughing leaves of the trees divide. 
And screen from seeing and leave in sight 
The god pursuing, the maiden hid. 

The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair 
Over her eyebrows shading her eyes ; 

The wild vine shpping down leaves bare 
Her bright breast shortening into sighs; 

The wild vine slips with the weight of its 
leaves. 

But the berried ivy catches and cleaves 

To the limbs that glitter, the feet that scare 

The wolf that follows, the fawn that flies. 

Algernon Charles Swinbukne. 



MARCH. 



The cock is crowing, 
The stream is flowing, 
The small birds twitter. 
The lake doth glitter, 
The green fleld sleeps in the sun ; 



The oldest and youngest 
Are at work with the strongest; 
The cattle are grazing, 
Their heads never raising; 
There are forty feeding like one ! 

Like an army defeated 

The snow hath retreated, 

And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare hill ; 
The ploiighboy is whooping — anon — anon 

There 's joy on the mountains ; 

There 's life in the fountains ; 

Small clouds are sailing. 

Blue sky prevaiHng ; 
The rain is over and gone ! 

William Woedswoktii. 



APEH.. 



Lessons sweet of Spring returning, 

Welcome to the thoughtful heart ! 
May I call ye sense or learning, 

Instinct pure, or heaven-taught art ? 
Be your title what it may. 
Sweet and lengthening April day, 
While with you the soul is free, 
Pianging wild o'er hill and lea ; 

Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, 

To the inward ear devout, 
Touched by light with heavenly warmng, 

Your transporting chords ring out. 
Every leaf in every nook. 
Every wave in every brook. 
Chanting with a solemn voice, 
Minds us of our better choice. 

Needs no show of mountain hoary. 

Winding shore or deepening glen, 
Where the landscape in its glory. 

Teaches truth to wandering men. 
Give true hearts but earth and sky. 
And some flowers to bloom and die, 
Homely scenes and simple views 
Lowly thoughts may best infuse. 

See the soft green willow springing 
Where the waters gently pass. 

Every way her free arms flinging 
O'er the moss and reedy grass. 



APRIL. 



13 



Long ere winter blasts are fled, 
Sec her tipped with vernal red, 
And her kindly flower displayed 
Ere her leaf can cast a shade. 

Thongh the rndest hand assail her, 

Patiently she droops awhile, 
But when showers and breezes hail her, 

Wears again her willing smile. 
Thus I learn contentment's power 
From the slighted willow bower, 
Ready to give thanks and live 
On the least that Heaven may give. 

If, the quiet brooklet leaving, 

Up the stormy vale I wind. 
Haply half in fancy grieving 

For the shades I leave behind, 
By the dusty wayside dear, 
Xightiugales with joyous cheer 
Sing, my sadness to reprove, 
Gladlier than in cultured grove. 

Where the thickest bows are twining 
Of the greenest, darkest tree. 

There they plunge, the light declining — 
All may hear, but none may see. 

Fearless of the passing hoof, 

Hardly will they fleet aloof; 

So they live in modest ways. 

Trust entire, and ceaseless praise. 

John Keble. 



ALMOND BLOSSOM. 

Blossom of the almond-trees, 
April's gift to April's bees, 
Birthday ornament of spring, 
Flora's fairest daughterling ; — 
Coming when no flowerets dare 
Trust the cruel outer air ; 
When the royal king-cup bold 
Dares not don his coat of gold ; 
And the sturdy blackthorn spray 
Keeps his silver for the May ; — 
Coming when no flowerets would. 
Save thy lowly sisterhood. 
Early violets, blue and white, 
Dying for their love of light. 



Almond blossom, sent to teach us 

That the spring-days soon will reach us. 

Lest, with longing over-tried, 

We die as the \1olets died — 

Blossom, clouding all the tree 

With thy crimson broidery, 

Long before a leaf of green 

On the bravest bough is seen ; 

Ah ! when winter winds are swinging 

All thy red bells into ringing, 

With a bee in every bell, 

Almond bloom, we greet thee well. 

Edwin Arnold, 



SPEING. 



Behold the young, the rosy Spring, 
Gives to the breeze her scented wing, 
While virgin graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way. 
The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have languished into silent sleep ; 
And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To flutter in a kinder sky. 
Now the genial star of day 
Dissolves the murky clouds away, 
And cultured field and winding stream 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Now the earth prolific swells 
AYith leafy buds and flowery bells; 
Gemming shoots the Olive twine ; 
Clusters bright festoon the vine ; 
All along the branches creeping. 
Through the velvet foliage peeping. 
Little infant fruits we see 
Nursing into luxurv. 



Translation of Thomas ^Ioore. 



Anacreon. 



SONG : ON MAY MORNING. 

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, 
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with 

her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap 

throws 
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. 



I 



14 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Hail, bounteous May, tliat doth inspire 
Mirth, and youth, and wai'm desire ; 
Woods and groves are of thy dressing, 
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song, 
And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 

John Milton. 



A DROP OF DEW. 

See how the orient dew. 
Shed from the bosom of the morn 
Into the blowing roses, 
(Yet careless of its mansion new 
For the clear region where 'twas born) 
Round in itself incloses. 
And in its little globe's extent 
Frames, as it can, its native element. 

How it the purple flower does slight. 

Scarce touching where it lies ; 
But gazing back upon the skies. 
Shines with a mornful hglit. 
Like its own tear, 
Because so long divided from the sphere ; 
Restless it roUs, and unsecure. 

Trembling, lest it grow impure ; 
Till the warm sun pities its pain. 
And to the skies exhales it back again. 

So the soul, that drop, that ray. 
Of the clear fountain of eternal day. 
Could it within the human floAver be seen. 
Remembering still its former height. 
Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green, 
And, recollecting its own light. 
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express 
The greater heaven in a heaven less. 
In how coy a figure wound. 
Every way it turns away ; 
So the world excluding round, 
Yet receiving in the day. 
Dark beneath, but bright above ; 
Here disdaining, there in love. 
How loose and easy hence to go ! 
How girt and ready to ascend ! 
Moving but on a point below, 
It all about does upwards bend. 
Such did the manna's sacred dew distil, 
White and entire, although congealed and 
chill- 



Congealed on earth, but does, dissolving, run 
Into the glories of the Almighty sun. 

Andbew Makvei.l. 



SONG. 

PncEBUs, arise. 

And paint the sable skies 

With azure, Avhite, and red. 

Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tython's 

bed. 
That she thy career may with roses spread. 
The nightingales thy coming each where sing 
Make an eternal spring. 
Give life to this dark world which lieth dead ; 
Spread forth thy golden hair 
In larger locks than thou was wont before. 
And, emperor-like, decore 
With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : 
Chase hence the ugly night, 
Which serves but to make dear thy glorious 

light. 
This is that happy morn. 
That day, long- wished day. 
Of all my life so dark, 
(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn. 
And fates my hopes betray,) 
Which, purely white, deserves 
An everlasting diamond should it mark. 
This is the morn should bring unto this grove 
My love, to hear, and recompense my love. 
Fan' king, who all preserves, 
But show thy blushing beams. 
And thou two sweeter eyes 
Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams 
Did once thy heart siu-prise : 
Nay, suns, which shine as clear 
As thou when two thou didst to Rome appear. 
Now, Flora, deck thyself in f;urest guise. 
If that ye winds would hear 
A voice surpassing, far, Amphion's lyre. 
Your furious chiding stay ; 
Let Zephyr only breathe, 
And with her tresses play, 
Kissing sometimes those piTrple ports of death 
The winds all silent are^ 
And Phoebus in his chair 
Ensaftrouing sea and air, 
Makes vanish every star : 
Nisht hke a drunkard reels 



MAY. 15 




Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels. 


As gladly to their goal they run, 


The fields with flowers are decked in erery 


Hail the returning sun. 




hue, 


James Gates Percivai. 




The clouds with orient gold spangle their 
blue: 










Here is the pleasant place, 


SONG TO MAY. 




And nothing wanting is, save she, alas ! 


Mat ! queen of blossoms. 




William Drtjmmond. 


And fulfilling flowers, 
With what pretty music 






Shall we charm the hours ? 




SPRING-. 


Wilt thou have pipe and reed, 
Blown in the open mead? 




Now the lusty Spring is seen ; 


Or to the lute give heed 




Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 


In the green bowers ? 




Daintily invite the view. 






Everywhere, on every green. 


Thou hast no need of us, 




Roses blushing as they blow. 


Or pipe or wire. 




And enticing men to pull ; 


That hast the golden bee 




Lilies whiter than the snow ; 


Ripened with fire ; 




Woodbines of sweet honey full — 


And many thousand more 




All love's emblems, and all cry : 


Songsters, that thee adore. 




Ladies, if not plucked, we die ! 


Filling earth's grassy floor 
With new desire. 




Beaumont and Fletcher. 


Thou hast thy mighty herds, 






Tame, and free livers ; 




MAY. 


Doubt not, thy music too 
In the deep rivers ; 




I FEEL a newer life in every gale ; 


And the whole plumy flight, 




The winds that fan the flowers, 


Warbling the day and night — 




And with their welcome breathings fill the sail, 


Up at the gates of light, 




Tell of serener hours, — 


See, the lark quivers! 




Of hours that glide unfelt away 






Beneath the sky of May. 


When with the jacinth 

Coy fountains are tressed : 




The spirit of the gentle south-wind calls 


And for the mournfid bird 




From his blue throne of air. 


Greenwoods are dressed, 




And where his whispering voice in music falls. 


That did for Tereus pine ; 




Beauty is budding there ; 


Tlien shall our songs be thine, 




The bright ones of the valley break 


To whom our hearts incline : 




Their slumbers, and awake. 


May, be thou blessed ! 




The waving verdure rolls along the plain, 
And the wide forest weaves. 


Lord THtrKLO'W- 






f welcome back its playfiU mates again. 


SUMMER LONGINGS. 




A canopy of leaves ; 






And from its darkening shadow floats 


Las mafianas floridas 






Be Abril y Mayo. 




A gush of trembhng notes. 


Caldekon. 




Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of May ; 


An ! my heart is weary waiting — 




The tresses of the woods 


Waiting for the May — 




With the light dalljdng of the west-wind play; 


Waiting for the pleasant rambles, 




And the full-brimming floods. 


Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, 





10 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



"With tlie woodbine alternating, 

Scent the dewy way. 
Ah ! my lieai't is weary waiting — 

Waiting for the May. 

All ! my heart is sick with longing, 
Longing for the May — 
Longing to escape from study, 
To the young face fair and ruddy. 
And the thousand charms belonging 

To the summer's day. 
Ah ! my heart is sick with longing, 
Longing for the May. 

Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing. 
Sighing for the May — 
Sighing for their sure returning. 
When the summer beams are burning, 
Hopes and dowers that, dead or dying, 

All the winter lay. 
Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing. 
Sighing for the May. 

Ah ! my heart is pained with throbbing, 
Throbbing for the May — 
Throbbing for the sea-side billows, 
Or the water- wooing willows ; 
Where, in laughing and in sobbing. 

Glide the streams away. 
Ah ! my heart, my heart is throbbing. 
Throbbing for the May. 

Waiting sad, dejected, weary, 
Waiting for tlic May : 
Spring goes by with wasted warnings — 
Moonlit evenings,^ sunbright moi'nings — 
Summer comes, yet dark and dreary 

Life stiU ebbs away ; 

Man is ever weary, weary. 

Waiting for the May ! 

Denis Flokenoe McCaktht. 



FIGHT IS NIGH GONE. 

Hey, now the day 's dawning ; 
The jolly cock's crowing; 
The eastern sky 's glowing ; 

Stars fade one by one ; 
The thistle-cock 's crying 



On lovers long lying. 
Cease vowing and sighine ; 
The night is nigh gone. 

The fields are o'erflowLug 
With gowans all glowing, 
And white hhes growing, 

A thousand as one ; 
The sweet ring-dove cooing. 
His love notes renewing, 
Now moaning, now suing ; 

The night is nigh gone. 

The season excelling. 

In scented flowers smelling. 

To kind love compeUing 

Our hearts every one ; 
With sweet ballads moving 
The maids we are loving. 
Mid musing and roving 

The nigbt is nigh gone. 

Of war and foir women 

The young knights are dreaming. 

With bright breastplates gleaming, 

And plumed helmets on ; 
The barbed steed neighs lordly. 
And shakes his mane proudly, 
For war-trumpets loudly 

Say night is nigh gone. 

I see the flags flowing, 
The warriors all glowing. 
And, snorting and blowing. 

The steeds rushing on ; 
The lances are crashing. 
Out broad blades come flashing 
Mid shouting and dashing — 
The night is nigh gone. 

Alexander Moktgomebt. 
Version of Allan Cunningham. 



MORNING IN LONDON. 

Eaeth has not anything to show more fair : 
Dull would he be of soul Avho could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty : 
This city now doth, like a garment, wear 
The beauty of the morning ; sQent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 



EARLY SUMMER. 



17 



Open unto the fields, and to the sky, 
All bright and glittei'ing m the smokeless air. 
Never did snn more beautifully steep, 
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill ; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 
The river glideth at his own sweet will ; 
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 

William 'WoRDSTroKTn. 



TIIE SABBATH MOROTNG. 

With silent awe I hail the sacred morn. 
That slowly wakes while all the fields are still ! 
A soothing calm on every breeze is borne ; 
A graver murmur giu-gles from the rill ; 
And echo answers softer from the hill ; 
And softer sings the linnet from tlie thorn : 
The skylark wai'bles in a tone less shrill. 
Hail, light serene ! haU, sacred Sabbath morn ! 
The rooks float silent by in airy drove ; 
The sun a placid yellow lustre throws ; 
The gales that lately sighed along the grove. 
Have hushed their downy wings in dead re- 
pose ; 
The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move — 
So smiled the day when the first morn arose ! 

John Letden. 



THEY COME ! THE MERRY SUMMER 
MONTHS. 

TiiET come! the merry summer months of 

beauty, song, and flowers ; 
They come ! the gladsome months that bring 

thick leafiness to bowers. 
Up, up, my heart! and walk abroad; fling 

cark and care aside ; 
Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peacc- 

fid waters glide ; 
Or, underneath the shadow vast of patri- 
archal tree, 
Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in 

rapt tranquillity. 

The grass is soft, its velvet touch is grateful 

to the hand ; 
And, like the kiss of maiden love, the breeze 

is sweet and bland ; 

7 



The daisy and the buttercup are nodding 

courteously ; 
It stirs their blood with kindest love, to bless 

and welcome thee ; 
And mark how with thine own thin locks— 

they now are silvery gray — 
That blissful breeze is wantoning, and wliis- 

pering, "Be gay! " 

There is no cloud that sails along the ocean 

of yon sky. 
But hath its own winged mariners to give it 

melody ; 
Thou secst their glittering fans outspread, all 

gleaming like red gold ; 
And hark! with shrill pipe musical, their 

merry course they hold. 
God bless them all, those little ones, who, fiir 

above this earth. 
Can make a scoff" of its mean joys, and vent 

a nobler mirth. 

But soft [ mine ear upcaught a soimd, — from 

yonder wood it came ! 
The spirit of the dim green glade did breathe 

his own glad name : — 
Yes, it is he! the hermit bird, that, apart 

from all his kind. 
Slow spells .his beads monotonous to the soft 

western wind ; 
Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! he sings again, — his notes 

are void of art ; 
Bat simplest strains do soonest sound the 

deep founts of the heart. 

Good Lord ! it is a gracious boon for thought- 
crazed wight like me. 

To smell again these summer flowers beneath 
this summer tree ! 

To suck once more in every breath their lit- 
tle soifls away. 

And feed my fancy with fond dreams of 
youth's bright summer day, 

When, rushing forth like untamed colt, the 
reckless, truant boy 

"Wandered through greenwoods all day long, 
a mighty heart of joy! 

I'm sadder now — I have had cause ; but ! 

I'm proud to think 
Tliat each pure joy-fount, loved of yore, I yet 

delight to drink : — 



18 POEMS OF NATURE. 


Leaf, blossom, Wade, hill, vallej-, stream, the 


Keen as are the arrows 


calm, unclouded sky, 


Of that silver sphere, 


Still mingle music with my dreams, as in the 


Whose intense lamp narrows 


days gone hy. 


In the white dawn clear. 


When summer's loveliness and light faU round 


Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 


me dark and cold, 
I'U hear indeed hfe's heaviest curse, — a heart 


All the earth and air 


that hath waxed old ! 


With thy voice is loud. 


"William Mothekwell. 


As, when night is bare. 




Prom one lonely cloud 




The moon rains out her beams, and heaven 






is overflowed. 


MOEmNG. 




' 


What thou art we know not ; 


Haek — hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 


What is most like thee? 


And Phoebus 'gins arise, 


Prom rainbow-clouds there flov/ not 


His steeds to water at those springs 


Drops so bright to see, 


On chahced flowers that lies : 


As from thy presence showers a rain of 


And winking Mary-buds begin 


melody. 


To ope their golden eyes ; 




With every thing that pretty bin. 


Like a poet hidden 


My lady sweet, arise ; 


In the light of thought. 


Arise, arise; 


Singing hymns unbidden. 


SnAKESPEAEE. 


Till the world is wrought 




To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded 


TO THE SKYLAEK. 


not; 
Like a high-born maiden, 


Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! 


In a palace tower, 


Soothing her love-laden 


Bird thou never wert. 






Soul in secret hour 


That from heaven, or near it, 






With music sweet as love, which overflows 


Pourest thy fiill heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 


her bower ; 




Like a glow-worm golden, 


Higher stiU and higher. 


In a dell of dew, 


Prom the earth thou springest. 


Scattering unbeholden 


Like a cloud of fire ; 


Its aerial hue 


The blue deep thou wingest, 


Among the flowers and grass which screen it 


And smging still dost soar, and soaring ever 


from the view ; 


singest. 






Like a rose embowered 


In the golden lightning 


In its own green leaves. 


Of the setting sun. 


By warm winds deflowered. 


O'er which clouds are brightening. 


Till the scent it gives 


Thou dost float and run ; 


Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy- 


Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. 


winged thieves. 


The pale, purple even 


Sound of vernal showers 


Melts around thy flight ; 


On the twinkling grass, 


Like a star of heaven, 


Eain-awakened flowers. 


In the broad daylight. 


All that ever was 


Thou art unseen, biit yet I hear thy shrill 


Joyous, and fresh, and clear, thy music dot!) 


dehght. 


surpass. 



THE 


LARK. i» 


Teacli us sprite or bird 


Teach me half the gladness 


What sweet thoughts are tliine : 


That thy brain must know, 


I have never lieard 


Such harmonious madness 


Praise of love or wine 


From my lips would flow. 


That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 


The world should listen then, as I am listen ■ 




ing now. 


Chorus hymeneal, 


Pepxt Btsshe Siiellky. 


Or triumphant chant, 




Matched with thine would be all 




But an empty vaunt — 


THE LAEK. 


A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden 




want. 


Bird of the wilderness. 




, Blithesome and cumberless. 


— What objects are the fountains 


Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 


Of thy happy strain ? 


Emblem of happiness, 


Wliat fields, or waves, or mountains ? 


Blest is thy dwelling-place — 


"What shapes of sky or plain ? 


Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 


What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance 
of pain ? 


Wild is thy lay, and loud. 
Far in the downy cloud ; 


With thy clear, keen joyance 


Love gives il; energy — ^love gave it birth ! 


Languor cannot be ; 


Where, on thy dewy wing — 


Shades of annoyance 


Where art thou journeying ? 


Never come near thee ; 


Thy lay is in heaven — thy love is on earth. 


Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 


O'er fell and fountain sheen. 


Waking, or asleep. 


O'er moor and mountain green. 


Thou of death must deem 


O'er the red streamer that heralds the day ; 


Tilings more true or deep 


Over the cloudlet dim. 


Thau we mortals dream ; 


Over the rainbow's rim, 


Or how could thy notes flowin such a crystal 


Musical cherub, soar, singing, away ! 


stream ? 


Then, when the gloaming comes. 




Low in the heather blooms. 


We look before and after. 


Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be i 


And pine for what is not ; 


Emblem of happiness, 


Our sincerest laughter 


Blest is thy dwelling-place — 


With some pain is fraught ; 


Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 


Our sweetest songs are those that tell of sad- 


James Hogq. 


dest thought. 
Yet if we could scorn 




SONG. 


Ilate, and pride, and fear; 




If we were things born 


'T IS sweet to hear the merry lark, 


Not to shed a tear. 


That bids a blithe good-morrow ; 


I knew not how thy joy we ever should come 


But sweeter to hark, in the twinkling dark 


near. 


To the soothing song of sorrow. 




nightingale ! What doth she ail ? 


Better than all measures 


And is she sad or jolly ? 
For ne'er on earth was sound of mirth 


Of delightful sound ; 


Better than all treasures 


So like to melancholy. 


That in books are foimd. 




Thy skill to poet were, thou scorncr of the 


The merry lark, he soars on high, 


ground ! 


No Avorldly thought o'ertakes him ; 



20 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



He sings aloud to the clear blue sky, 
And the daylight that awakes him. 

As sweet a lay, as loud, as gay, 
The nightingale is trilling ; 

With feeling bliss, no less than his, 
Her little heart is thrilling. 

Yet ever and anon, a sigh 

Peers through her lavish mirth ; 
For the lark's bold song Is of the sky. 

And hers is of the earth. 
By night and day, she tunes her lay. 

To drive away all sorrow ; 
For bliss, alas ! to-night must pass, 

And woe may come to-morrow. 

Hartley Colekidge. 



SOXG. 



Pack clouds away, and welcome day, 
With night we banish sorrow ; 

Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft, 
To give my love good-morrow. 

Wings from the Avind to please her mind, 
Notes from the lark I'll borrow : 

Bird, prune thy wing ; nightingale, sing. 
To give my love good-morrow. 
To give my love good-morrow, 
Notes from them all I'll borrow. 

Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast. 

Sing, birds, in every furrow ; 
And from each hiU let music shrill 

Give my fair love good-morrow. 
Blackbird and thrush in every bush. 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow. 
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves. 

Sing my fair love good-morrow. 

To give my love good-morrow. 

Sing, birds in every furrow. 

Thomas IIeywood 



THE ANGLER'S TRYSTING-TREE. 

Sixa, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Meet the morn upon the lea ; 
Are the emeralds of the spring 

On the angler's trysting-tree? 

Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me ! 



Are there buds on our willow-tree ? 
Buds and birds on our trysting-tree ? 

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Have you met the honey-bee. 
Circling upon rapid wing, 

'Round the angler's trysting-tree? 

Up, sweet thrushes, up and see ! 

Are there bees at our willow -tree ? 

Birds and bees at the trysting-tree. 

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing! 

Are the fountains gushing free ? 
Is the south wind wandering 

Through the angler's trysting-tree ? 

Up, sweet thrushes, teU to me ! 

Is there wind up our willow-tree ? 

Wind or calm at our trysting-tree ? 

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 
Wile us with a merry glee ; 

To the flowery haunts of spring- 
To the angler's trysting-tree. 
Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me ! 
Are there flowers 'neath our willow-tree ? 
Spring and flowers at the trysting-tree ? 
Thomas Tod Stoddakt. 



THE ANGLER. 

On ! the gallant fisher's life, 

It is the best of any : 
'T is fiill of pleasure, void of strife. 
And 't is beloved by many ; 

Other joys 

Are but toys ; 

Only this 

Lawful is ; 

For oiir skill 

Breeds no ill, 
But content and pleasure. 

In a morning, up we rise, 
Ere Aurora's peeping ; 
Drink a cup to wash our eyes, 
Leave the sluggard sleeping ; 
Then we go, 
To and fro. 
With our knacks 
At our backs, 



ANGLING. 



21 



To such streams 
As the Thames, 
If we have the leisure. 

When we please to Tralk abroad 

For om* recreation ; 
In the fields is our abode, 
Full of delectation, 

"Where, in a brook. 

With a hook — 

Or a lake, — 

Fish we take ; 

There we sit, 

For a bit, 
Till we fish entangle. 

We have gentles in a horn. 

We have paste and worms too ; 
We can watch both night and morn. 
Suffer rain and storms too ; 
None do here 
Use to swear : 
Oaths do fray 
Fish away ; 
We sit still. 
Watch our quill : 
Fishers must not wrangle. 

If the sun's excessive heat 

Make our bodies swelter. 
To an osier hedge we get. 
For a friendly shelter ; 
Where — in a dyke, 
Perch or pike, 
Eoach or daice, 
We do chase, 
Bleak or gudgeon. 
Without grudging; 
We are still contented. 

Or, we sometimes pass an hour 

Under a green willow. 
That defends iis from a shower. 
Making earth our pillow ; 

Where we may 

Think and pray. 

Before death 

Stops our breath ; 

Other joys 

Are but toys. 
And to be lamented. 

John CnALKniLi. 



VERSES ly PE.VISE OF AXGLIXG. 

QmvERixG fears, heart-tearing cares, 
Anxious sighs, untimely tears. 

Fly, fly to courts. 

Fly to fond woi-ldlings' sports, 
Where strained sardonic smiles are glosing still, 
And grief is forced to laugh against her will, 

Where mirth 's but mummery. 

And sorrows only real be. 

Fly from our country pastimes, fly, 

Sad troops of human misery, 
Come, serene looks. 
Clear as the crystal brooks. 

Or the pure aznred heaven that smiles to see 

The rich attendance on our poverty ; 
Peace and a secure mind. 
Which all men seek, we only find. 

Abused mortals ! did you know 

Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow. 
You 'd scorn proud towers 
And seek them in these bowers, 

Where winds, sometimes, our woods perhaps 
may shake. 

But blustering care could never tempest make ; 
Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 
Saving of fountains that glide by us. 

Here 's no fantastic mask nor dance, 
But of our kids that frisk and prance ; 

ISTor wars are seen. 

Unless upon the green 
Two harmless lambs are butting one the other. 
Which done, both bleating run, each to his 
mother ; 

And wounds are never found, 

Save what the ploughshare gives the 
ground. 

Here are no entrapping baits 
To hasten to, too hasty fates ; 

Unless it be 

The fond credulity 
Of silly fish, which (worlding like) stiU look 
Upon the bait, but never on the hook ; 

Nor envy, 'less among 

The birds, for price of their sweet song. 

Go, let the diving negro seek 

For gems, hid in some forlorn creek : 



22 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



We all pearls scorn 

Save "what the dewy morn 
Congeals upon each little spire of grass, 
Which careless shepherds beat down as they 
pass ; 

And gold ne'er here appears, 

Save Avhat the yellow Ceres bears. 

Blest silent groves, oh, may you be. 
For ever, mirth's best nursery ! 

May pure contents 

For ever pitch their tents 
Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, 

these moiTutains ; 
And peace still slumber by these purling 
fountains, 

^liich we may every year 

Meet, when we come a-fishing here. 

' SiK Henry Wottok. 



THE ANGLER'S WISH. 

I IK these flowery meads would be. 

These crystal streams should solace me ; 

To whose harmonious bubbling noise 

I, with my angle, would rejoice. 

Sit here, and see the turtle-dove 
Court his chaste mate to acts of love ; 

Or, on that bank, feel the west wind 
Breathe health and plenty ; please my mind. 
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers. 
And then washed off by April showers ; 
Here, hear my kenna sing a song : 
There, see a blackbird feed her young, 

Or a laverock build her nest ; 

Here, give my weary spirits rest, 

And raise my low-pitched thoughts above 

Earth, or what poor mortals love. 

Thus, free from lawsuits, and the noise 
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice; 

Or, with my Bryan and a book, 

Loiter long days near Shawford brook ; 

There sit by him, and eat my meat ; 

There see the sun both rise and set ; 

There bid good morning to next day ; 

There meditate my time away ; 

And angle oa ; and beg to have 

A quiet passage to a welcome grave. 

IzAAK Walton. 



THE BOBOLINK. 

Bobolink ! that in the meadow, 
Or beneath the orchard's shadow, 
Keepest up a constant rattle 
Joyous as my childi'en's prattle, 
Welcome to the north xigain ! 
Welcome to mine eai' thy strain, 
Welcome to mine eye the sight 
Of thy buff, thy black and white. 
Brighter plumes may greet the sun 
By the banks of Amazon ; 
Sweeter tones may weave the spell 
Of enchanting Philomel ; 
But the tropic bird would fail, 
And the English nightingale, 
If we should compare their worth 
With thine endless, gushing mirth. 

When the ides of May are past, 
June and Summer nearing fast, 
While from depths of blue above 
Comes the mighty breath of love, 
Calling out each bud and flower 
With resistless, secret power, — 
Waking hope and fond desire, 
Kindling the erotic fire, — 
Filling youths' and maidens' dreams 
With mysterious, pleasing themes ; 
Then, amid the sunlight clear 
Floating in the fragrant air, 
Thou dost fill each heart with pleasure 
By thy glad ecstatic measure. 

A single note, so sweet and low, 
Like a full heart's overflow. 
Forms the prelude ; but the strain 
Gives no such tone agaiu. 
For the wild and saucy song 
Leaps and skips the notes among. 
With such quick and sportive play, 
Ne'er was madder, merrier lay. 

Gayest songster of the Spring ! 
Thy melodies before me bring 
Visions of some dream-built land. 
Where, by constant zephyrs fanned, 
I might walk the livelong day. 
Embosomed in perpetual May. 
Nor care nor fear thy bosom knows ; 
For thee a tempest never blows ; 



THE CUCKOO. 



23 



]i)Ut wlieu GUI' northern Summer 's o'er, 
By Delaware's or Schuylkill's shore 
Tlic wild rice lifts its airy head, 
And royal feasts for thee are spread. 
And when the Winter threatens there. 
Thy tireless Avings yet own no fear. 
But bear thee to more southern coasts. 
Far beyond the reach of frosts. 

Bohohnk ! still may thy gladness 
Take from me all taints of saduess ; 
Fill my soul with trust unshaken 
In that Being who has taken 
Care for every living thing, 
In Summer, Winter, Fall, and Spring. 

Thomas Hill. 



TO THE CUCKOO. 

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! 

Thou messenger of Spring ! 
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat. 

And woods thy welcome slug. 

Soon as the daisy decks the green, 

Thy certain voice we hear. 
Hast thou a star to guide thy path. 

Or mark the rolling year ? 

Dehghtful distant ! with thee 

I hail the time of flowers, 
And hear the sound of music sweet 

From birds among the bowers. 

The schoolboy, Avandering through the wood 

To pull the primrose gay, 
Starts, thy most curious voice to hear. 

And imitates thy lay. 

What time the pea puts on the bloom, 

Thou fliest thy vocal vale. 
An annual guest in other lands. 

Another Spring to hail. 

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear ; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy soug, 

No Winter in thy year ! 

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee ! 

We 'd make, with joyful ^ymg, 
Our annual visit o'er the globe, 

Attendants on the Spring. 

John Logan. 



TO THE CUCKOO. 

BLITHE new-comer ! I have heard, 

1 hear thee and rejoice. 

Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, 
Or but a wandering voice ? 

While I am lying on the grass, 
Thy twofold shout I hear ; 
From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
At once for off, and near. 

Though babbling only to the vale, 
Of sunshine and of flowers. 
Thou hringest unto me a tale 
Of Aisionary hours. 

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! 

Even yet thou art to me 

No bird, but an invisible thing, 

A voice, a mystery ; 

The same that in my school-boy days 

1 listened to — that cry 

Which made me look a thousand ways. 
In bush, and tree, and sky. 

To seek thee did I often rove 
Through woods and on the green ; 
And thou wert stiU a hope, a love — 
Still longed for, never seen. 

And I can listen to thee yet ; 
Can lie upon the plain 
And listen till I do beget 
That golden time again. 

O blessed bird ! the earth vre pace, 
Agiiin appears to be 
An unsubstantial, faery place, 
That is fit home for thee ! 

William "Wordswoetu. 



THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTIN- 
GALE. 

I. 

The God of Love, — aJi ienedicitef 
How mighty and how great a lord is he I 
For he of low hearts can make high ; of high 
He can make low, and unto death bring nigh ; 
And hard hearts, he can make them kind and 
free. 



24 



POEMS OF NATURE, 



Within a little time, as liath been found, 

lie can make sick folk wliole and fresh and 

sound : 
Them who are whole in body and in mind, 
He can make sick ; bind can he and unbind 
All that he will have bound, or have unbound. 



To tell his might my wit may not suffice ; 
Foolish men he can make them out of wise — 
For he may do all that he will devise ; 
Loose hvers he can make abate their vice. 
And proud hearts can make tremble in a trice. 



In brief, the whole of what lie will he may ; 
Against him dare not any wight say nay ; 
To humble or afflict whome'er he wUl, 
To gladden or to grieve, he hath like skill ; 
But most his might he sheds on the eve of 
May. 

V. 

For every true heart, gentle heart and free. 
That with him is, or thinketh so to be, 
Now, against May, shall have some stirring, — 

whether 
To joy, or be it to some mourning; never. 
At other time, methiuks, in like degree. 

TI, 

For now, when they may hear the small birds' 

song, 
And see the budding leaves the branches 

throng. 
This unto their remembrance doth bring 
All kinds of pleasure, mixed with sorrowing ; 
And longing of sweet thoughts that ever long. 

TII. 

And of that longing heaviness doth come, 
"Whence oft great sickness grows of heart and 

home; 
Sick are they all for lack of then- desire ; 
And thus in May then- heai'ts are set on fire. 
So that they burn forth in gi-eat martyrdom. 

vni. 
In sooth, I speak from feeling ; what though 

now 
Old am I, and to gonial pleasure slow ; 



Yet have I felt of sickness through the May, 
Both hot and cold, and heart-aches every 

day,— 
How hard, alas ! to bear, I only know. 



Such shaking doth the fever in me keep 
Through all this May, that I have httle sleep 
And also 't is not likely unto me. 
That any living heart should sleepy be, 
In which Love's dart its fiery point doth steep. 



But tossing lately on a sleepless bed, 
I of a token thought, which lovers heed : 
How among them it was a common tale, 
That it was good to hear the nightingale 
Ere the vile cuckoo's note be uttered. 



And then I thought anon, as it was day, 
I gladly would go somewhere to essay 
If I perchance a nightingale might hear ; 
For yet had I heard none, of all that year ; 
And it Avas then the third night of the May. 



And soon as I a glimpse of day espied, 

ISTo longer would I in my bed abide ; 

But straightway to a wood, that was hard by, 

Forth did I go, alone and fearlessly. 

And held the pathway down by a brook-side ; 



Till to a lawn I came, all white and green ; 

I in so fair a one had never been : 

The ground was green, with daisy powdered 

over ; 
Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover, 
All green and white, and nothing else was 

seen. 

XIV. 

There sat I down among the fair, fresh 

flowers, 
And saw the birds come tripping from their 

bowers. 
Where they had rested them all night; and 

they. 
Who were so joyful at the light of day. 
Began to honor May with aU their powers. 



THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 



25 



XX. 

■Well (lid they know that service all by rote ; 
And there was many and many a lovely note — 
Some, singing loud, as if they had complained ; 
Some with their notes another manner feigned ; 
And some did sing all out with 'the full throat. 



They pruned themselves, and made themselves 

right gay. 
Dancing and leaping light upon the spi*ay ; 
And ever two and two together were, 
The same as they had chosen for the year, 
Upon Saint Valentine's returning day. 



Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sat upon, 
"Was making such a noise as it ran on, 
Accordant to the sweet birds' harmony ; 
Methought that it was the best melody 
Which ever to man's ear a passage won. 



And for delight, but how I never wot, 
I in a slumber and a swoon was caught, 
Not aU asleep and yet not waking Avholly ; 
And as I lay, the Ouckoo, bird unholy. 
Broke silence, or I hoard him in my thought. 



And that was right upon a tree fost by. 
And who was then ill satisfied but I ? 
Now God, quoth I, that died upon the rood. 
From thee and thy base throat keep all that's 

good ; 
Full little joy have I now of thy cry. 



And, as I with the Cuckoo thus 'gan chide. 
In the next bush that was me fast beside, 
I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing, 
That her clear voice made a loud rioting. 
Echoing through all the greenwood Avide. 



Ah ! good sweet Nightingale ! for my heart's 

cheei*, 
Hence hast thou stayed a little while too long ; 
For we have had the soiTy Cuckoo here. 
And she hath been before thee with her song ; 
Evil light on her ! she hath done me wrong. 



But hear you now a wondi'ous thing, I pray ; 
As long as in that swooning-fit I lay, 
Methought I wist right well what these birds 

meant. 
And had good knowing both of their intent, 
And of their speech, and all that they would 

say. 

xsiir. 
The Nightingale thus in my hearing spake : — 
Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake, 
And, prithee, let us, that can sing, dwell here ; 
For every wight eschews thy song to hear, 
Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make. 

XXIV. 

What ! quoth she then, wliat is 't that ails thee 

now? 
It seems to me I sing as well as thou ; 
For mine's a song that is both true and 

plain, — 
Although I cannot quaver so in vain 
As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how. 



All men may understanding have of me, 
But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee ; 
For thou hast many a foolish and quaint 

cry:— 
Thou sayest Osee, Osee, then how may I 
Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may 

be? 

XXVI. 

Ah! fool,. quoth she, wist thou not what it is? 
Oft as I say Osee, Osee, I wis, 
Then mean I, that I should be wondrous faiu 
That shamefully they one and all were slain. 
Whoever against Love mean aught amiss. 



And also would I that they all were dead, 
Who do not think in love theh* life to lead, 
For who is loth tlie God of Love to obey 
Is only fit to die, I dare well say ; 
And for that cause Osee I cry ; take heed ! 

xsvni. 
Ay, quoth the Cuckoo, that is a quaint law— 
Tliat all must love or die ; but I withdraw. 
And take my leave of all such company, 



26 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



For my intent it neither is to die, 

Nor ever wliHe I live Love's yoke to draw. 

XXIX. 

For lovers, of nil folk that be alive, 
The most disquiet have, and least do thrive; 
Most fcehng have of sorrow, woe, and care. 
And the least welfare cometh to their share ; 
What need is there against the truth to 
strive ? 

XXX. 

"What ! quoth she, thou art all out of thy mind, 
That, in thy churlishness, a cause canst find 
To speak of Love's true servants in this mood ; 
For in this world no service is so good. 
To every wight that gentle is of kind. 



For thereof comes all goodness and aU worth ; 
And gentiless and honor thence come forth ; 
Thence worship comes, content, and true 

heart's pleasure. 
And fuU-assured trust, joy without measure, 
An:l jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth ; 



And bounty, lowliness, and courtesy. 
And seemliness, and faithfid company. 
And dread of shame that wUl not do amiss ; 
For he that faithfully Love's servant is, 
Eather than be disgraced, woidd chuse to die. 

xxxin. 

And that the very truth it is which 1 
Now say, — in such belief I '11 live and die ; 
And, Ouckoo, do thou so, by my advice. 
Then, quoth she, let me never hope for bliss, 
If with that counsel I do e'er comply. 

xxxiv. 

Good Nightingale! thou speakest wondrous 

fair. 
Yet, for all that, the truth is found elsewhere ; 
For Love in young folk is but rage, I wis. 
And Love in old folk a great dotage is ; 
"Who most it useth, him 'twUl most impair, 

XXXV. 

For thereof come aU contraries to gladness ; 
Thence sickness comes, and overwhelming 
sadness, 



Mistrust and jealousy, despite, debate, 

Dishonor, shame, envy importunate, 

Pride, anger, mischief, poverty, and madness. 

XXXVI. 

Loving is aye an office of despair. 

And one thing is therein which is not fair : 

For whoso gets of love a little bliss. 

Unless it always stay with him, I wis 

He may fuU soon go with an old man's hair. 



And therefore, Nightingale! do thou keep 

nigh ; 
For, trust me well, in spite of thy quaint cry, 
If long time from thy mate thou be, or far, 
Thou 'It be as others that forsaken are ; 
Then shalt thou raise a clamor as do I. 



Fie, quoth she, on tliy name, bird ill beseen ! 
The God of Love afflict thee with all teen. 
For thou art worse than mad a thousand-fold ; 
For many a one hath virtues manifold. 
Who had been naught, if Love had never been. 



For evermore his servants Love amendeth. 
And he from every blemish them defendeth : 
And maketh them to burn, as in a fire. 
In loyalty and worshipful desire ; 
And, when it likes him, joy enough them 
sendeth. 

XL. 

Thou Nightingale ! the Ouckoo said, be still. 
For Love no reason hath but his own will ; — 
For to th' untrue he oft gives ease and joy ; 
True lovers doth so bitterly annoy, 
He lets them perish through that grievous ill. 



With such a master Avoidd I never be. 
For he, in sooth, is blind, and may not see, 
And knows not when he hurts and when he 

heals ; 
Within his court full seldom truth avails. 
So diverse in his wilfulness is he. 



Then of the Nightingale did I take note — 
How from her inmost heart a sigh she brought, 



THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 



2'J 



A.nd said : Alas that ever I -n-as born ! 
Not one word have I now, I 'm so forloi'n : 
And wth that word, she into tears burst out. 



Alas, alas! my very heart will break, 
Quoth she, to hear this churlish bird thus 

speak 
Of Love, and of his holy services ; 
Now, God of Love ! thou help me in some 

wise. 
That vengeance on this Cuckoo I may wreak. 

XLIV. 

And so, methought, I started up anon. 
And to the brook I ran and got a stone, 
Which at the Cuckoo hardily I cast. 
That he for dread did fly away full fast ; 
And glad, in sooth, was I when he was gone. 



And as he flew, the Cuckoo, ever and aye, 
Kept crying: "Farewell! — farewell. Popin- 
jay!" 
As if in scornful mockery of me ; 
And on I hunted him from tree to tree, 
fill he was far, all out of sight, away. 



Then straightway came the Nightingale to me. 
And said: Forsooth, my friend, do I thank 

thee, 
That thou wert near to rescue me ; and now 
Unto the God of Love I make a vow. 
That all this May I will thy songstress be. 



Well satisfied, I thanked her ; and she said : 
By this mishap no longer be dismayed, 
Though thou the Cuckoo heard, ere thou 

heard'st me ; 
Yet if I live it shall amended be. 
When next May comes, if I am not afraid. 



And one thing will I counsel thee also : 
The Cuckoo trust not thou, nor his Love's saw ; 
All that he said is an outrageous lie. 
Nay, nothing shall me bring thereto, quoth I, 
For Love and it hath done me mighty woe. 



Yea, hath it ? Use, quoth she, this medicine : 
This May-time, every day before thou dine. 
Go look on the fresh daisy ; then say I, 
Although, for pain, thou mayst be like to die. 
Thou wilt be eased, and less wilt droop and 
pine. 

L. 

And mind always that thou be good and true, 
And I will sing one song, of many new. 
For love of thee, as loud as I may cry. 
And then did she begin this song full high, 
" Beshrew all them that are in love untrue." 

LI. 

And soon as she had sung it to an end, 
Now farewell, quoth she, for I hence must 

wend; 
And, God of Love, that can right well and 

may, 
Send unto thee as mickle joy this day, 
As ever he to lover yet did send. 



Thus takes the Nightingale her leave of me ; 
I pray to God with her always to be, 
And joy of love to send her evermore ; 
And shield us from the Cuckoo and her lore, 
For there is not so false a bird as she. 



Forth then she flew, the gentle Nightingale, 
To all the birds that lodged within that dale. 
And gathered each and all into one place. 
And them besought to hear her dolefid case ; 
And thus it was that she began her tale : 

Lir. 
The Cuckoo, — 't is not well that I should 

hide 
How she and I did each the other chide. 
And without ceasing, since it was daylight ; 
And now I pray you all to do me right 
Of that false bird, whom Love cannot abide. 



Then spake one bird, and full assent all gave : 
This matter asketh counsel good as grave ; 
For birds we are — all here together brought ; 
And, in good sooth, the Cuckoo here is not ; 
And therefore we a Parliament wiU have. 



28 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And thereat shall the Eagle be oiir Lord, 
And other Peers whose names are on record. 
A summons to the Cuckoo shall be sent, 
And judgment there be given ; or, that intent 
FaiUng, we finally shall make accord. 



And aU this shall be done, without a nay, 
The morrow after Saint Valentine's day, 
Under a maple that is well beseen 
Before the chamber-window of the Queen, 
At "Woodstock, on the meadow green and 

gay- 

LVIII. 

She thanked them; and then her leave she 

took. 
And flew into a hawthorn by tliat brook ; 
And there slie sat and sung, upon that tree, 
"For term of life Love shall have hold of 

me," — 
So loudly, that I with that song awoke. 



Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know, — 
For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence, — 
Who did on thee the hardiness bestow 
To appear before my Lady ? But a sense 
Thou surely hast of her benevolence. 
Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give ; 
For of aU good she is the best alive. 

Alas, poor Book ! for tl^y unworthiness 
To show to her some pleasant meanings, Avrit 
In winning words, since through her gentUess 
Thee she accepts as for her service fit ! 
Oh ! it repents me I have neither wit 
Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give ; 
For of all good she is the best alive. 

Beseech her meekly with all lowliness. 
Though I be far from her I reverence. 
To think upon my truth and steadfastness ; 
And to abridge my sorrow's violence 
Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience. 
She of her liking proof to me would give ; 
For of all good she is the best alive. 

l'envoy. 
Pleasure's Aurora, day of gladsomencss ! 
Luna by night, with heavenly influence 



Illumined ! root of beauty and goodness ! 

Write, and allay, by your beneficence, 

My sighs breathed forth in silence, — comfort 

give ! 

Since of all good you are the best alive. 

Geoffkey Chauc^er. 
Version of William Woedsworth. 



SO¥G. 



See, oh see ! 

How every tree, 

Every bower. 

Every flower, 
A new life gives to otliers' joys ; 

While that I 

Grief-stricken lie, 

Nor can meet 

With any sweet 
But what faster mine destroys. 
What are aU the senses' pleasures. 
When the mind has lost all measures ? 

Hear, oh hear ! 

How sweet and clear 

The nightingale 

And water's fall 
In concert join for others' ear ; 

While to me, 

For harmony. 

Every air 

Echoes despair. 
And every drop provokes a tear. 
What are aU the senses' pleasures. 
When tlie soul has lost all measures ? 

Lord Bristol. 



THE GREEN LINNET. 

Beneath tliese fruit-tree boughs, that shed 
Their snow-white blossoms on my head. 
With brightest sunshine round me spread, 

Of Spring's unclouded weather — 
In this sequsstered nook, how sweet 
To sit upon my orchard-seat ! 
And birds and flowers once more to greet, 

My last year's friends together. 

One have I marked, the happiest guest 
In all this covert of the blest ; 



A RE THUS A. 



2'J 



Hail to thee, ftu- above tlic rest 

In joy of voice and pinion ! 
Thou, Lianet ! in tliy green array, 
Presiding spirit here to-day, 
Dost lead tlie revels of the May, 

And this is thy dominion. 

While birds, and butterflies, and flowers 
]Make all one band of pai'amours. 
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers. 

Art sole in thy employment ; 
A life, a pi'csenco like the air, 
Scattering thy gladness without care. 
Too blest with any one to pair — 

Thyself thy own enjoyment. 

Amid yon tuft of hazel-trees, 
That twinkle to the gusty breeze, 
Behold him perched in ecstasies. 

Yet seeming still to hover ; 
There ! where the flutter of his wings 
L'pon his back and body flings 
Shadows and sunny glimmerings. 

That cover him all over. 

^ly dazzled sight he oft deceives — 
A brother of the dancing leaves — 
Then flits, and from tlie cottage-eaves 

Pours forth a song in gushes ; 
As if by that exulting strain 
lie mocked, and treated with disdain 
Tiie voiceless form he chose to feign, 

While fluttering in the bushes. 

William 'WoaDswoKTii. 



THE BLACK COCK. 

GooD-MOEEOw to thy sable beak. 
And glossy plumage, dark and sleek; 
Tliy crimson moon and azure eye- 
Cock of the heath, so wildly shy ! 
I see thee slowly cowering through 
Tliat wiry web of silver dew. 
That twinkles in the morning air 
Like casement of my lady fair, 

A maid there is in yonder tower, 
AVho, peeping from her early bower. 
Half shows, like thee, with simple wile. 
Her braided hair and morning smile. 



The rarest things, witli wayward will. 
Beneath the covert hide them still ; 
The rarest tilings, to light of day 
Look shortly forth, and break away. 

One fleeting moment of delight 
I warmed me in her cheering sight ; 
And short, I ween, the time will be 
That I shall parley hold with thee. 
Through Snowden's mist, red beams the day ; 
The chmbing herd-boy chants his lay ; 
The gnat-flies dance their sunny ring ; 
Thou art already on the wing. 

JOA^INA BaILLIB. 



ARETHUSA. 

Aeethusa arose 

From her couch of snows 
Li the Acroceraunian mountains, — 

From cloud and from crag 

With many a jag, 
Shepherding her bright fountains. 

She leapt down the rocks 

With her rainbow locks 
Streaming among the streams ; — 

Her steps paved with green 

The downward ravine 
Which slopes to the western gleams : 

And, gliding and springing. 

She went, ever singiug 
In murmurs as soft as sleep ; 

The Earth seemed to love her. 

And Heaven smiled above her. 
As she lingered towards the deep. 

Then Alphous bold. 

On his glacier cold. 
With his trident the mountains strook ; 

And opened a chasm 

In the rocks ; — with the spasm 
All Erymanthus shook. 

And the black south wind, 

It concealed behind 
The urns of the silent snow, 

And earthquake and thunder 

Bid rend in sunder 
The bars of the springs below; 

The beard and the hair 

Of the river-god were 
Seen through the torrent's sweep, 



■60 POEMS OF NATURE. 


As he followed the light 


At noontide they flow 


Of the fleet nymph's flight 


Through the w^oods below, 


To the brink of the Dorian deep. 


And the meadows of asphodel ; 


• 


And at night they sleep 


" Oh, save me ! Oh, guide me ! 


In the rocking deep 


And bid the deep hide me, 


Beneath the Ortygian shore ; — 


For he grasps me now by the hair ! " 


Like spirits that lie 


The loud Ocean heard. 


In the azure sky. 


To its blue depth stirred, 


When they love but live no more. 


And divided at her prayer ; 


Percy Btsshe Sdellet. 


And under the water 

The Earth's white daughter 






Fled like a sunny beam ; 


THE FOUNTAIN". 


Behind her descended 




Her billows, unblended 


Into the sunshine, ^ 


With the brackish Dorian stream. 


FuU of light, 


Like a gloomy stain 


Leaping and flashing 


On the emerald main, 


From morn till night ; 


Alpheus rushed behind, — 


Into the moonlight. 


As an eagle pursuing 


Whiter than snow, 


A dove to its ruin 


Waving so flower-like, 


Down the streams of the cloudy wind. 


When the winds blow I 


Under the bowers 


Into the starlight. 


Where the ocean powers 


Eushing in spray, 


Sit on their pearled thrones ; 


Happy at midnight — 


Through the coral woods 


Happy by day ! 


Of the weltering floods. 


-^ 


Over heaps of unvalued stones; 


Ever in motion. 


Through the dim beams 
Which amid the streams 


Blitliesome and cheery, 
Still climbing heavenwai'd, 


Weave a network of colored light ; 


Never aweary ; 


And under the caves, 


Glad of all weathers, 


Where the shadowy waves 


Still seeming best, 


Are as green as the forest's night — 


Upward or downward, 


Outspeeding the shark, 


Motion thy rest : 


And the sword-fish dark, 




Under the ocean foam ; 


Full of a nature 


And up tlii'ough the rifts 


Nothing can tame, 


Of the mountain clifts 


Changed every moment — 


They passed to their Dorian home. 


Ever the same ; 


And now from their fountains 


Ceaseless aspiring, "( 
Ceaseless content, 


In Enna's mountains. 


Darkness or sunshine, 


Down one vale where the morning basks, 
Like friends once parted, 


Thy elemenl^; 
Glorious fountain ! ' 


Grown single-hearted, 


They ply their watery tasks. 


Let my heart be 


At simrise they leap 


Fresh, changeful, constant, 


From their cradles steep 


Upward, like thee ! 


In the cave of the shelving hill ; 


James Eussell Lo-stell. 



LITTLE i 


STREAMS. 81 




Fretting like a peevish child ; 


LITTLE STREAMS. 


Through the hamlet, where all day 




Li their waves the children play ; 


Little streams are light and shadow ; 


Eunning west, or running east. 


Flowing through the pasture meadow, 


Doing good to man and beast — 


Flowing by the green way-side, 


xilways giving, weary never, 


Through the forest dim and wide, 


Little streams, I love you ever. 


Through the hamlet still and small — 


Mary Howrrr. 


By the cottage, by the ball. 




By the ruin'd abbey still ; 




Turning here and there a mill, 




Bearing tribute to the river — 


THE WATER ! THE WATER ! 


Little streams, I love you ever. 






The Water ! the Water ! 


Summer music is there flowing — 


The joyous brook for me, 


Flowering plants in them are growing ; 


That tuneth through the quiet night 


Happy life is in them all. 


Its ever-living glee. 


Creatures innocent and small ; 


The Water! the Water! 


Little birds come down to drink, 


That sleepless, merry heart. 


Fearless of their leafy brink ; 


Which gurgles on unstintedly, 


Noble trees beside them grow. 


And loveth to impart. 


Glooming them with branches low ; 


To all around it, some small measure 


And between, the sunshine, glancing 


Of its own most perfect pleasure. 


In their little waves, is dancing. 






The Water ! the Water ! 


Little streams have flowers a many. 


The gentle stream for me, 


Beautiful and fair as any ; 


Tliat gushes from the old gray stone, 


Typha strong, and green bur-reed ; 


Beside the alder-tree. 


Willow-herb, with cotton-seed ; 


The Water! the Water! 


Arrow-head, with eye of jet; 


That ever-bubbling spring 


And the water-violet. 


I loved and looked on while a child. 


There the flowering-rush you meet, 


In deepest wondering, — 


And the plumy meadow-sweet ; 


And asked it whence it came and went, 


And, in places deep and stilly. 


And when its treasures Avould be spent. 


Marble-like, the water-lily. 






The Water ! the Water ! 


Little streams, their voices cheery, 


The merry, wanton brook 


Sound forth welcomes to the weary. 


That bent itself to pleasure me. 


Flowing on from day to day. 


Like mine old shepherd crook. 


"Without stint and without stay ; 


The Water! the Water! 


Here, upon their flowery bank. 


That sang so sweet at noon, 


Li the old time pilgrims drank — 


And sweeter still all night, to win 


Here have seen, as now, pass by. 


Smiles from the pale, proud moon, 


King-fisher, and dragon-fly ; 


And from the little fairy faces 


Tliose bright things tljat have their dwelling, 


That gleam in heaven's remotest places 


Where the little streams are welling. 






The Water! the Water! 


Down in valleys green and lowly. 


The dear and blessed thing. 


^[urmuring not and gliding slowly; 


That all day fed the little flowers 


Up in mountain-hollows wild. 


On its banks blossoming. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



The "Water ! the Water ! 

That murmured in my ear 
Hymns of a sauit-like purity, 

That angels well might hear, 
And whisper in the gates of heaven, 
How meek a pilgrim had been shriven. 

The Water! the Water! 

Where I have shed salt tears. 
In loneliness and friendliness, 

A thing of tender years. 
The Water ! the Water ! 

Where I have happy been, 
And showered upon its bosom flowers 

Culled from each meadow green ; 
And idly hoped my life would be 
So crowned by love's idolatry. 

The Water! the Water! 

My heart yet burns to think 
Ilow cool thy fountain sparkled forth, 

For parched lip to drink. 
The Water ! the Water ! 

Of mine own native glen — 
The gladsome tongue I oft have heard. 

But ne'er shall hear again. 
Though fancy fills my ear for aye 
With sounds that live so far away ! 

Tlie Water ! the Water ! 

The mild and glassy wave. 
Upon whose broomy banks I 've longed 

To find my silent grave. 
The Water! the Water! 

0, blest to me thou art ! 
Thus sounding in life's solitude 

The music of my heart. 
And filling it, despite of sadness. 
With dreamings of departed gladness. 

The Water! the Water! 

The mournful, pensive tone 
That whispered to my heart how soon 

This weary life was done. 
The Water ! the AVater ! 

That rolled so bright and free. 
And bade me mark how beautiful 

Was its soul's purity ; 
And how it glanced to heaven its wave. 
As, wandering on, it sought its grave. 

William Motherwell. 



SONG OF THE BROOK. 

I COME from haunts of coot and hern : 

I make a sudden sally 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 

By thirty hills I hurry down, 
Or slip between the ridges ; 

By twenty thorps, a little town, 
And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip's farm I flow 
To join the brimming river ; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

I chatter over stony ways, 
In little sharps and trebles ; 

I bubble into eddying bays, 
I babble on the pebbles. 

With many a curve my banks I fret 
By many a field and fallow. 

And many a fairy foreland set 
With willow-weed and mallow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brimming river; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

I wind about, and in and out, 
With here a blossom sailing. 

And here and there a lusty trout. 
And here and there a grayling. 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel, 
With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel ; 

And draw them all along, and flow 
To join the brimming river ; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots ; 

I slide by hazel covers ; 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers. 



NATURE. 



I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
Among my skimming swallows , 

I make the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows. 

I nuirnnir under moon and stars 

In brambly Avildernesses ; 
I linger by my shingly bars; 

I loiter round my cresses ; 

And out again I curve and flow 
To join the brimming river; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

Alfred Tennyso.v. 



THE QUESTIOIs^ 

1 DREAMED that, as I wandered by the way, 
Bare Winter was changed suddenly to Spring, 
And gentle odors led my steps astray. 
Mixed with the sound of waters murmuring, 
Along a shelvy bank of turf, which lay 
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling 
Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 
r.ut kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest 
in a dream. 

There grew pied wind-flowers and violets. 
Daisies — those pearled Arcturi of the earth. 
The constellated flower that never sets ; 
Faint oxlips; tender blue-bells, at whose 

birth 
The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower 

that wets 
Its mother's face with heavcu-collected tears, 
"When the low wind, its playmate's voice,' it 

hears. 

And in the warm hedge grew bush-eglantine, 
(ireen cow-bind and the moonlight-colored 

May; 
And cherry-blossoms, and white caps whose 

wine 
\Vas the bright dew yet drained not by the 

day ; 

And wild roses, and ivy serpentine 

With its dark buds and leaves wandering 

asti'ay ; 

9 



And flowers azure, black and streaked witl. 

gold, 
Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. 

And nearer to the river's trembling edge. 
There grew broad flag-flowers, purple pranki 

with white ; 
And starry river buds among the sedge 
And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, 
Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 
With moonlight beams of their OAvn watery 

light ; 
And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 

Methought that of these visionary flowers 
I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 
That the same hues, which in their natural 

bowers 
Were mingled oi opposed, the like array 
Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours 
Within my hand — and then, elate and gay, 
I hastened to the spot whence I had come, 
That I might there present it! Oh to Avhom? 
Peect Btssue Suelley. 



NATURE. 

The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by, 

Because my feet find measui-e with its call ; 

The birds know when the friend they love is 
nigh. 

For I am known to them, both great and 
small. 

The flower that on the lonely hill-side grows 

Expects me there when Spring its bloom has 
given ; 

And many a tree and bush my wanderings 
knows. 

And e'en the clouds and silent stars of hea- 
ven ; 

For he who with his Maker walks ariglit. 

Shall be their lord as Adam was before ; 

His ear shall catch each sound with new de- 
light, 

Each object wear the dress that then it wore; 

And he, as when erect in soul he stood, 

Hear from his Father's lips that all is good. 

Jones Tekt, 



34 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



TO THE SMALL CELANDINE. 

Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies ; 
Let them live ujDon their praises ; 
Long as there 's a sun that sets, 
Primroses will have their glory ; 
Long as there are violets, 
They will have a place in story: 
There 's a flower that shall be mine, 
'Tis the little Celandine. 

Eyes of some men travel far 
For the finding of a star; 
Up and down the heavens they go. 
Men that keep a mighty rout ! 
I 'm as great as they, I trow. 
Since the day I found thee out. 
Little flower! — I'll make a stir, 
Like a sage astronomer. 

Modest, yet withal an elf 
Bold, and lavish of thyself; 
Since we needs must first have met, 
I have seen thee, high and low. 
Thirty years or more, and yet 
'T was a face I did not know ; 
Thou hast now, go where I may, 
Fifty greetings in a day. 

Ere a leaf is on a hush, 

In the time before the thrush 

Ilas a thought about her nest. 

Thou wilt come with half a call. 

Spreading out thy glossy breast 

Like a careless prodigal ; 

Telling tales about the sun, 

When we've little warmth, or none. 

Poets, vain men in their mood, 
Travel with the multitude ; 
Never heed them ; I aver 
That they all are Avanton wooers ; 
But the thrifty cottager, 
Who stirs little out of doors, 
Joys to spy thee near at home ; 
Spring is coming, thou art come ! 

Comfort liave tliou of thy merit, 
Kindly, unassuming spirit ! 



Careless of thy neighborhood, 
Thou dost show thy pleasant face 
On the moor, and in the wood. 
In the lane ; — there 's not a place, 
Howsoever mean it be. 
But 'tis good enough for thee. 

Ill befall the yellow flowers. 
Children of the flaring Hours! 
Buttercups, that will be seen, 
Whether we will see or no ; 
Others, too, of lofty mien ; 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken praise that should be thine, 
Little, humble Celandine. 

Prophet of delight and mirth. 
Ill-requited upon earth ; 
Herald of a mighty band. 
Of a joyous train ensuing; 
Serving at my heart's command, 
Tasks that are no tasks renewing, 
I will sing, as doth behoove, ' 
Hymns in praise of what I love ! 

William Wordswoetb 



TO VIOLETS. 

Welcome, maids of honor. 

You do bring 

In the Spring, 
And wait upon her. 

She has virgins many, 

Fresh and fair ; 

Yet you are 
More sweet than any. 

Y' are the Maiden Posies, _ 

And so graced. 

To be placed, 
'Fore damask roses. 

Yet though thus respected, 

By and by 

Ye do lie, 
Poor girls, neglected. 

KoBERT IIekei': 



FLOWERS. 



TO PRIMROSES, 

Fir.I.KD WITH MOEXIXG DEW. 

NTi/Y do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears 
Speak grief in you, 
"Who were but born 
Just as the modest morn 
Teemed her refreshing dew ? 
AUis ! ye have not known that shower 
That mars a flower ; 
IsTor felt th' unkind 
Breath of a bhisting Avind ; 
Nor are ye worn with years ; 
Or warped, as we, 
"Who think it strange to see 
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, 
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. 

Speak, whimpering younglings, and make 
known 
The reason Avhy 
Ye droop and weep. 
Is it for want of sleep. 
Or childish lullaby ? 
Or, that ye have not seen as yet 
The violet? 

Or brought a kiss 
From that sweetheart to this ? 
]^o, no ; this sorrow, shown 
By your tears shed, 
"Would ha\e this lecture read : — 
•'That things of greatest, so of meanest worth. 
Conceived with grief are, and with tears 
brought forth." 

EOBEKT HkKKICK. 



TO BLOSSOMS. 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
"Why do ye fall so fast? 
Your date is not so past 

Cut you may stay yet here awhile 
To blush and gently smile, 
And go at last. 

What ! were ye born to be 
An hour or half's delight. 
And so to bid good-night? 



'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth, 
Merely to show your worth, 
And lose you quite. 

But you are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne'er so brave; 

And, after they have shown their pride 
Like you awhile, they glide, 
Into the grave. 

EOBEET HeERICK 



TO DxVFFODILS. 

Fair daffodils ! we weep to see 

You haste away so soon ; 
As yet the early-rising sun 

Has not attained his noon : 
Stay, stay 

Until the hastening day 
Has run 

But to the even-song ; 
And, having prayed together, we 

"^^ill go with you along, 

"We have short time to stay as you , 

"\ye have as short a Spring ; 
As quick a growth to meet decay, 

As you, or any thing : 
We die, 

As your hours do ; and dry 
Away 

Like to the summer's rain. 
Or as the peai-ls of morning dew, 

Ne'er to be found again. 

EOBEKT IIeRRICK 



DAFFODILS. 

I WANDEEED, lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

When all at once I saw a crowd — 

A host of golden daffodils 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees. 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way, 
They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the marc-in of a bav : 



36 



POEMS F • N A T U R E . 



Ten tliousand saw I, at a glance, 
Tossing tlieir heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; 

A poet could not but be gay. 

In such a jocund company; 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought: 

For oft, when on my couch I lie, 
In vacant or in pensive mood, 
They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude, 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

"WiiLLAii ■WoEDs^yOK^^. 



TRAILING ARBUTUS. 

DAELiifGS of the forest ! 
Blossoming, alone. 
When Earth's grief is sorest 
For her jewels gone — 
Ere the last snow-drift melts, your tender 
buds have blown. 

Tinged with color faintly. 
Like the morning sky. 
Or, more pale and saintly, 
Wrapped in leaves ye lie — 
Even as children sleep in faith's simi^licity. 

There the wild wood-robin. 
Hymns your solitude ; 
And the rain comes sobbing 
Through the budding wood, 
While the low south wind sighs, but dare not 
be more rude. 

Were your pure lips fashioned 
Out of air and dew — 
Starlight imimpassioned, 
Dawn's most tender hue, 
And scented by the woods that gathered 
sweets for you ? 

Fairest and most lonely, 
From the Avorld apart; 
Made for beauty only. 



Veiled from Nature's heart 
With such unconscious grace as makes the 
dream of Art ! 

Were not mortal sorrow 
An immortal shade. 
Then would I to-morrow 
Such a flower be made, 
And live in the dear woods where my lost 
childhood played. 

IIOSE TEEr.Y. 



THE RHODORA. 

LINES ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE 
FLO WEE ? 

In May. Avhen sea-winds pierced our soli- 
tudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and tlie sluggish brook : 
The purple petals fallen in the pool 
Made the black waters with their beaut;s 

gay- 
Here might tlie red-bird come his plumes ts; 
cool, 
And court the flower that cheapens his 
array. 
Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky 
Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for 

seeing. 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Why thou wert there, rival of the rose ! 
I never thought to ask ; I never knew, 
But in my simple ignorance suppose 
The selfsame Power that brought me there, 
brought you. 

EAipn Waldo Emerson. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TUKNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUOD 
IN APRIL 1786. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my poAver, 

Thou bonnie gem. 



THE DAISY. 



■ii 



Alas ! it 's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie larlc, companion meet, 
Bendhig thee 'mang the dewy weet 

Wi' speckled breast, 
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm — 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield. 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun 

shield ; 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed. 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid. 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betrayed. 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard. 

On life's rough ocean luckless starred ; 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is given, 
Who long with wants and woes has striven, 
By human pride or cunning driven 

To misery's brink. 
Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 

He, ruined, sink ! 



Even thou who mouru'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern ruin's ploughshare drives elate. 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight 

Shall be thy doom ! 

Egbert Buen8 



TO A DAISY. 

TiiEKE is a flower, a little flower 
With silver crest and golden eye. 
That welcomes every changing hour, 
And weathers every sky. 

The prouder beauties of the field. 
In gay but quick succession shine ; 
Race after race their honors yield, 
They flourish and decline. 

But this small flower, to Nature dear. 
While moons and stars their courses run. 
Enwreathes the circle of the year. 
Companion of the sun. 

It smiles upon the lap of May, 
To sultry August spreads its charm, 
Lights pale October on. his way. 
And twines December's arm. 

The purple heath and golden broom, 
On moory mountains catch the gale ; 
O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, 
The violet in the vale. 

But this bold floweret climbs the hiU, 
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen. 
Plays on the margin of the rill. 
Peeps round the fox's den. 

W^ithin the garden's cultured round 
It shares the sweet carnation's bed ; 
And blooms on consecrated ground 
In honor of the dead. ; 

The lambkin crops its crimson gem ; 
The wild bee murmurs on its breast ; 
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem,. 
Light o'er the skylark's nest. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



'Tis Flora's page — in every place, 
111 every season, fresh and fair ; 
It opens with perennial grace, 
And blossoms every where. 

On waste and woodland, rock and plain. 
Its humble buds unheeded rise ; 
The rose has but a summer reign ; 
Tlie Daisy never dies! 

James Montgomeet. 



TO THE DAISY. 



Her divine skill taught me this : 
That from every thing I saw 
I couul some instruction draw, 
And raise pleasnre to the height 
Through the meanest object's sight. 
By the murmur of a spring, 
Or the least bough's rustelling ; 
By a daisy whose leaves spread 
Shut when Titan goes to bed ; 
Or a shady bush or tree, 
She could more infuse in me, 
Than all Nature's beauties can 
In some other wiser man. 

Geoege "Witheb. 



In youth from rock to rock I went. 
From hill to hill, in discontent 
Of pleasure high and turbulent — 

Most pleased when most uneasy ; 
But now my own delights I make. 
My thirst at every rill can slake, 
And gladly Nature's love partake. 

Of thee, sweet Daisy ! 

Thee, AVinter in the garland wears 
That thinly decks his few gray hairs ; 
Spring parts the clouds with softest airs. 

That she may sun thee ; 
"Whole summer-fields are thine by right ; 
And Autumn, melancholy wight, 
Doth in thy crimson head delight 

When rains are on thee. 

In shoals and bands, a morrice train, 
TIiou greet'st the traveller in the lane ; 
Pleased at his greeting thee again, 

Yet nothing daunted 
Nor grieved, if thou be set at naught ; 



And oft alone in nooks remote 
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought 
"When such are wanted. 

Be violets in their sacred mews 

The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose ; 

Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 

Her head impearling ; 
Thou liv'st Avith less ambitions aim. 
Yet hast not gone without thy fame ; 
Thou art indeed by many a claim 

The poet's darling. 

If to a rock from rains he fly. 
Or, some bright day of April sky, 
Imprisoned by hot sunshine, lie 

Near the green holly, 
And wearily at length should fare ; 
He needs but look about, and there 
Thou art ! — a friend at hand, to scare 

His melancholy. 

A hundred times, by rock or bower, 
Ere thus I have lain couched an hour, 
Have I derived from thy sweet power 

Some apprehension ; 
Some steady love ; some brief delight ; 
Some memory that had taken flight ; 
Some chime of fancy, wrong or right ; 

Or stray invention. 

If stately passions in me burn. 

And one chance look to thee should turn, 

I drink out of an humbler urn 

A lowlier pleasure ; 
The homely sympathy that lieeds 
The common life our nature breeds ; 
A wisdom fitted to the needs 

Of hearts at leisure. 

Fresh-smitten by the morning ray, 
AYhen thou art up, alert and gay. 
Then, cheerful flower ! my spirits play 

With kindred gladness ; 
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest, 
Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest 
Hath often eased my pensive breast 

Of careful sadness. 



THE DAISY. 



R9 



And all day long I nuniLer yet, 
All seasons through, another debt, 
"Which I, ^vhereTer thou art met, 

To thee am owing ; 
An instinct call it, a blind sense ; 
A happy, genial influence. 
Coming one knon's not how, nor whence, 

Nor whither going. 

Child of the year ! that round dost run 
Thy pleasant course, — when day 's begun. 
As ready to salute the sun 

As lark or leveret — 
Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain, 
Nor be less dear to future men 
Than in old time ; — thou not in vain 

Art Nature's favorite. 



TO THE SAME FLOWER. 

^YITU little here to do or see 

Of things that in the great world be 

Daisy ! again I talk to thee. 

For thou art worthy ; — 
Thou unassuming commonplace 
Of Nature, with that homely face. 
And yet with something of a grace, 

"Which love makes for thee ! 

Oft on the dappled turf at ease 

I sit, and play with similes — 

Loose types of things through all degrees, 

Thoughts of thy raising ; 
And many a fond and idle name 
I give to thee, for praise or blame. 
As is the humor of the game, 

"^Hiile I am gazing. 

A nun demure, of lowly port ; 

Or sprightly maiden of Love's court. 

In thy simplicity the sport 

Of all temptations ; 
A queen in crown of rubies drest ; 
A starveling in a scanty vest ; 
Are all, as seems to suit thee best. 

Thy appellations. 



A little Cyclops Avith one eye 
Staring to threaten and defy. 
That thought comes next, — and instantly 

The freak is over ; 
The shape will vanish, — and behold 
A silver shield with boss of gold 
That spreads itself, some fairy bold 

In fight to cover. 

I see thee glittering from afar,— 
And then thou art a pretty star ; 
Not quite so fair as many are 

In heaven above thee ! 
Yet like a star, with glittering crest. 
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest ; — 
May peace come .never to his nest, 

"Who shall reprove thee ! 

Bright flower ! for by that name at last, 

"When all my reveries are past, 

I call thee, and to that cleave fast, — 

Sweet, silent creature ! 

That breath'st with me in sun and air, 

Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 

My heart w' ith gladness and a share 

Of thy meek nature ! 

William Wokdswostil 



SONG OF SPPJNG. 

Latjd the first Spring daisies ; 

Chaunt aloud their praises ; 

Send the children up 

To the high hill's top ; 

Tax not the strength of their young hands 

To increase your lands. 

Gather the primroses. 

Make handfuls into posies ; 

Take them to the little girls Avho are at worlc 

in mills ; 
Pluck the violets blue, — 
Ah, pluck not a few ! 

Knowest thou what good thoughts from Uea- 
' ven the violet instils ? 

Give the children holidays, 
(And let these be jolly days. 



iO 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Grant freedom to the children in this joyous 

Spring ; 
Better men, hereafter, 
Shall we have, for laughter 
Freely shouted to the woods, till all the 

echoes ring. 
Send the children up 
To the high hill's top. 
Or deep into the wood's recesses, 
To woo Spring's caresses. 

See, the birds together, 

In this splendid weather. 

Worship God — (for he is God of birds as 

well as men) : 
And each feathered neighbor 
Enters on his labor, — 
Sparrow, robin, redpole, finch, the linnet, 

and the wren. 
As the year advances, 
Trees their naked branches 
Clothe, and seek your pleasure in their green 

apparel. 
Insect and wild beast 
Keep no Lent, but feast ; 
Spring breathes upon the earth, and their 

joy 's increased, 
And the rejoicing birds break forth in one 

loud carol. 

Ah, come and woo the Spring ; 

List to the birds that sing ; 

Pluck the primroses ; pluck the violets ; 

Pluck the daisies. 

Sing their praises ; 

Friendship with the flowers some noble 

thought begets. 
Come forth and gather these sweet elves, 
(More witching are they than the fays of 

old,) 
Come forth and gather them yourselves ; 
Learn of these gentle flowers whose worth 

is more than gold. 

Come, come into the wood ; 

Pierce into the bowers 

Of these gentle flowers, 

"Which, not in solitude 

Dwell, but with each other keep society : 

And with a simple piety. 



Are ready to be woven into garlands for the 

good. 
Or, upon summer earth, 
To die, in virgin worth ; 
Or to be strewn before the bride, 
And the bridegroom, by her side. 

Come forth on Sundays ; 

Come forth on Mondays ; 

Come forth on any day ; 

Children, come forth to ylaj : — 

Worship the God of Nature in your child- 
hood ; 

Worship Him at your tasks with best en- 
deavor ; 

Worship Him in your sports ; worship Him 
ever ; 

Worship Him in the wildwood ; 

Worship Ilim amidst the flowers ; 

In the greenwood bowers ; 

Pluck the buttercups, and raise 

Your voices in His praise ! 

Edwakd Yon.. 



THE BEOOM-PLOWEPv. 

Oh the Broom, the yellow Broom, 

The ancient poet sung it. 
And dear it is on summer days 

To lie at rest among it. 

I know the realms where people say 
The flowers have not their fellow ; 

I know where they shine out like suns. 
The crimson and the yellow. 

I know where ladies live enchained 

In luxury's silken fetters. 
And flowers as bright as glittering gems 

Are used for written letters. 

But ne'er was flower so fair as this, 

In modern days or olden ; 
It groweth on its nodding stem 

Like to a garland golden.- 

And all about my mother's door 
Shine out its glittering bushes. 



FLOWEllS. 



41 



And down tlie glen, where clear as liglit 
The mountain-water gushes. 

Take all the rest ; but give me this, 
And the bird that nestles in it ; 

I love it, for it loves the Broom — 
The green and yellow linnet. 

Well, call the rose the queen of flowers, 
And boast of that of Sharon, 

Of lilies like to marble cups. 
And the golden rod of Aaron : 

I care not how these flowers may be 
Beloved of man and woman ; 

The Broom it is the flower for me. 
That groweth on the common. 

Oh tlie Broom, the yellow Broom, 

The ancient poet sung it, 
And dear it is on summer days 

To lie at rest among it. 

Mary Howitt. 



THE BRAMBLE FLOWER. 

Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows, 

AVild bramble of the brake ! 
So, put thou forth thy small white rose; 

I love it for his sake. 
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow 

O'er all the fragrant bowers, 
Thou need'st not be ashamed to show 

Thy satin-threaded flowers ; 

For dull the eye, the heart is dull, 

That cannot feel how fair, 
Amid all beauty beautiful, 

Thy tender blossoms are. 
How delicate thy gauzy frill. 

How rich thy branchy stem, 
How soft thy voice when woods are still, 

And thou sing'st hymns to them ; 

While silent showers are falling slow, 

And, 'mid the general hush, 
A sweet air lifts the little bough, 

Lone whispering through the bush! 
10 



The primrose to the grave is gone ; 

The hawthorn flower is dead ; 
The violet by the mossed gray stone 

Hath laid her weary head ; 

But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring, 

In all their beauteous power, 
The fresh green days of life's fair Spring, 

And boyhood's blossomy hour. 
Scorned bramble of the brake ! once more 

Thou bidd'st me be a boy, 
To gad with thee the woodlands o'er, 

In freedom and in joy. 

Ebenezee Elliott. 



THE WILD HOl^EYSUCKLE. 

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow. 

Hid in this silent, dull retreat, 
Untouched thy honeyed blossoms blow, 
Unseen thy little branches greet : 
No roving foot shall crush thee hero, 
N"o busy hand provoke a tear. 

By Nature's self in white arrayed, 

Slie bade thee shun the vulgar eye, 
And planted here the guardian shade, 
And sent soft waters murmuring by 
Thus quietly thy summer goes — 
Thy days declining to repose. 

Smit with those charms, that must decay 

I grieve to see your future doom ; 
They died — ^uor were those flowers more gay- 
The flowers that did in Eden bloom ; 
IJnpitying frosts and Autumn's poAver 
Shall leave no vestige of this flower. 



From morning suns and evening dews 

At first thy little being came : 
If nothing once, you nothing lose, 
For when you die you are the same ; 
The space between is but an hour, 
The frail duration of a flower. 

PUILIP Fr.ENEAcr. 



42 



POEMS OF NATURE, 



THE BRIEE. 

My brier that smelledst sweet, 
"When gentle Spring's first heat 
Ran through thy quiet veins ; 
TIiou that couldst injure none, 
But wouldst he left alone, 
Alone thou leavest me, and nought of tliine 
remains. 

What ! hath no poet's lyre 
O'er thee, sweet-breathing brier, 

Ilung fondly, ill or well ? 
And yet, methinks, with thee 
A poet's sympathy, 
Wliether in weal or woe, in life or death, 
might dwell. 

Hard usage both must bear. 
Few hands your youth will rear, 

Few bosoms cherish you ; 

Your tender prime must bleed 

Ere you are sweet ; but, freed 

From life, you then are prized ; thus prized 

are poets too. 

"Walter Savage Landok. 



TO THE DANDELION'. 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside 
the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold ! 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
"Which children pluck, and, full of pride, up- 
hold— 
High-hearted buccaneers, o'eijoyed that 
they 
An Eldorado in the grass have found. 

Which hot the rich earth's ample round 
Jfay match in wealth ! — thou art more dear 

to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish 
prow 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas ; 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease. 



'T is the Spring's largess, which she scatters noi* 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish band ; 
Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
Tlie offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mme Italy ; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime ; 

The eyes thou givest me 
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time: 
Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 
Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment 
In the white lily's breezy tent. 
His conquered Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles 
burst. 

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass ; 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze. 

Where, as the breezes pass. 
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways ; 
Of leaves that slumber In a cloudy mass, 
Or whiten in the wind ; of waters blue, 
That from the distance sparkle through 
Some woodland gap ; and of a sky above, 
Where one white cloud like a stray lamb 
doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked 
with thee ; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, 

Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long ; 

And I, secure in childish piety. 
Listened as if I heard an angel sing 

With news from heaven, which he did 
bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears. 
When birds and flowers and I were happy 
peers. 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem. 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human heart, 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret 
show, 
Did "we bnt pay the love we owe. 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 

James ETSsr.r l Lowell 



FLOWERS. 



43 



THE VIOLET. 

! faint, delicious, spring-time violet. 

Tliine odor, like a key, 
Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let 

A thouglit of sorrow free. 

Tlie breath of distant fields upon ray brow 
Blows through that open door 

The sound of wind-borne bells, more sweet 
and low. 
And sadder than of yore 

It comes afar, from that beloved place. 

And that beloved hour. 
When life hung ripening in love's golden 
grace, 

Like grapes above a bower. 

A spring goes singing through its reedy grass ; 

The lark sings o'er my head. 
Drowned in the sky — O pass, ye visions, pass! 

I would that I were dead ! — 

Why hast thou opened that forbidden door 

From which I ever flee ? 
O vanished Joy ! Love, that art no more. 

Let my vexed spirit be ! 

violet ! thy odor through my brain 

ITath searched, and stung to grief 

This sunny day, as if a curse did stain 
Thy velvet leaf. 

William "W. Stobt. 



FLOWERS. 

I WILL not have the mad Clytie, 
Whose head is turned by the sun ; 
The tulip is a courtly quean. 
Whom, therefore, I will shun ; 
The cowslip is a country wench 
The violet is a nun ; — 
But I will Avoo the dainty rose, 
The queen of every one. 

The pea is but a wanton witch, 
In too much haste to wed, 
And clasps her rings on every hand ; 
The wolfsbane I should dread ; — 



jSTor will I dreary rosemarye. 
That always mourns the oead ; — 
But I will woo the dainty rose, 
With her cheeks of tender red. 

The lily is all in white, like a saint, 

And so is no mate for me — 

And the daisy's cheek is tipped with a blusl 

She is of such low degree ; 

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves. 

And the broom 's betrothed to the bee ; — 

But I will plight with the dainty rose. 

For fairest of all is she. 

Thomas IIoou. 



THE EOSE. 

Go, lovely rose ! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me 

That now she knows, 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Tell her that 's young, 
And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That hadst thou sprung 
In deserts where no men abide. 
Thou must have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired; 

Bid her oome forth — 
Suffer herself to be desired, 
And not blush so to be admired. . 

Then die, that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee — 
How small a part of time they share 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 
Edmund WALLsa 



CANZONET. 

Flo WEES are fresh, and bushes green, 

Cheerily the linnets sing ; 
Winds are soft, and skies serene ; 

Time, however, soon shall throw 
AVinter 's snoAV 

O'er the buxom breast of Spring! 



44 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Hope, tliat buds in lover's heart, 

Lives not through the scorn of years ; 

Time makes love itself depart ; 

Time and scorn congeal the mind — 

Looks unkind 
Freeze affection's warmest tears. 

Time shall make the hushes green ; 
Time dissolve the winter snow ; 
• Winds be soft, and skies serene ; 
Linnets sing their wonted strain. 

But again 
Blighted love shall never blow ! 

Luis de Camobns, (Portuguese.) 
Translation of Lord Steakofoed. 



CHOEUS OF FLOWEES. 

We are the sweet flowers, 
Born of sunny showers, 
(Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty 
saith ;) 
Utterance, mute and bright, 
Of some unknown delight, 
We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple 
breath : 
All who see us love us — 
We befit all places ; 
TJnto sorrow we give smiles — and unto graces, 
races. 

Mark our ways, how noiseless 
All, and sweetly voiceless. 
Though the March-winds pipe to make our 
passage clear ; 
Not a whisper tells 
Where our small seed dwells, 
Nor is known the moment green when our 
tips appear. 
We thread the earth in silence. 
In silence build our bowers — 
And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh 
a-top, sweet flowers. 

The dear lumpish baby. 
Humming with the May-bee, 
Hails us with his bright star, stumbling 
throuui;h the grass ; 



The honey-dropping moon, 
On a night in June, 
Kisses our pale pathway leaves, that felt tlic 
bridegroom pass. 
Age, the withered dinger, 
On us mutely gazes, 
And wraps the thought of his last bed in his 
childhood's daisies. 

See (and scorn all duller 
Taste) how Heaven loves color ; 
How great Nature, clearly, joys in red and 
green ; 
What sweet thoughts she thinks 
Of violets and pinks. 
And a thousand flushing hues made solely to 
be seen ; 
See her whitest lilies 
Chill the silver showers. 
And what a red mouth is her rose, the woman 
of her flowers. 

Uselessness divinest. 

Of a use the finest, 
Painteth us, the teachers of the end of use ; 

Travelers, weary-eyed. 

Bless us, far and Avide ; 
Unto sick and prisoned thoughts we give sud- 
den truce ; 

Not a poor town window 

Loves its sickliest planting. 
But its wall speaks loftier truth than Babylo- 
nian vaunting. 

Sagest yet the uses 

Mixed with our sweet juices, 

Whether man or May -fly profit of the balm ; 
As fair fingers healed 
Knights from the olden field. 

We hold cups of mightiest force to give the 
wildest calm. 
Even the terror, poison, 
Hath its plea for blooming ; 

Life it gives to reverent lips, though death to 
the presuming. 

And oh ! our sweet soul-taker, 
That thief, the honey-maker. 
What a house hath he, by the thymy glen 1 
In his talking rooms 
How the feasting fumes, 



FLOWERS. 45 


Till the gold cups overflow to the mouths of 


Drooping grace unfurls 


men ! 


Still Hyacinthus' curls. 


The butterflies come aping 


And Narcissus loves himself in the selfish 


Those fine thieves of ours, 


rill ; 


A,nd flutter round our rifled tops, like tickled 


Thy red lip, Adonis, 


flowers with flowers. 


Still is wet with morning ; 




And the step that bled for thee +he rosv 


See those tops, how beauteous ! 


brier adorning. 


"What fair service duteous 




Round some idol waits, as on their lord the 


Oh ! true things ar'e fables, 


Nine. 


Fit for sagest tables, 


Elfin court 'twould seem. 


And the fiowers are true things — yet no fa- 


And taught, perchance, that dream 


bles they ; 


Which the old Greek mountain dreamt, upon 


Fables were not more 


nights divine. 


Bright, nor loved of yore — 


To expound such wonder 


Yet they grew not, like the flowers, by every 


Human speech avails not , 


old pathway ; 


Yet there dies no poorest weed, that such a 


Grossest hand can test us — 


glory exhales not. 


Fools may prize us never — 




Yet we rise, and' rise, and rise — marvels sweet 


Think of all these treasures. 


for evei*. 


Matchless Avorks and pleasures, 




Every one a marvel, more than thought can 


"Who shall say that flowers 


say • 


Dress not heaven's own bowers? 


Tnen tliink in what bright showers 


"Who its love, without us, can fancy — or sweet 


"We thicken fields and bowers, 


floor? 


And with what heaps of sweetness half stifle 


Who shall even dare 


wanton May ; 


To say we sprang not there — 


Think of the mossy forests 


And came not down, that Love might bring 


By the bee-birds haunted, 


one piece of heaven the more ? 


And all those Amazonian plains, lone lying 


Oh ! pray believe that angles 


as enchanted. 


From those blue dominions 




Brought US in their white laps down, 'twixt 


Trees themselves are ours ; 


their golden pinions. 


Fruits are born of flowers ; 


Leigh IltrNT. 


Peach, and roughest nut, were blossoms in 




the Spring ; 


♦ 


The lusty bee knows well 




The news, and comes pell-mell. 


FLOWERS. 


xlnd dances in the gloomy thicks with dark- 




some antheming ; 


Spake full well, iij language quaint and olden, 


Beneath the very burden 


One who dwelleth by the castled Ehine, 


Of planet-pressing ocean. 


When he called the flowers, so blue and 


We wash our smiling cheeks in peace — a 


golden, 


thought for meek devotion. 


Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 


Tears of Phoebus — ^missings 


Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 


Of Cythcrea's kissings, 


As astrologers and seers of eld ; 


Have in us been found, and wise men find 


Yet not Avrapped about with awful mystery, 


them still ; 


Like the burning stars which they beheld 



46 



POEMS OF NATURE, 



"Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars above ; 

But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
"Writ all over this great world of ours — 

Making evident our own creation. 

In these stars of earth, these golden flow- 
ers. 

And the poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the self-same, universal being 

Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining. 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day. 

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining. 
Buds that open only to decay ; 

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues. 
Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 

Large desires, with most uncertain issues. 
Tender wishes, blossoming at night ; 

These in flowers and men are more than 
seeming ; 

Workings are they of the self-same powers 
Which the poet, in no idle dreaming, 

Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 

Everywhere about us are they glowing — 
Some, like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 

Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, 
Stand, like Kuth, amid the golden corn. 

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, 
And in Summer's green-emblazoned field, 

But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing. 
In the centre of his brazen shield ; 

i^ot alone in meadows and green alleys. 
On the mountain-top, and by the brink 

Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, 
Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink ; 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory. 
Not on graves of bird and beast alone, 

But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, 
On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 



In the cottage of the rudest peasant ; 

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling tow- 
ers. 
Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 

Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers. 

In all places, then, and in all seasons. 

Flowers expand their light and soul-like 
wings. 

Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons. 
How akin they are to human things. 

And with childlike, credulous affection. 
We behold their tender buds expand — 

Emblems of our own great resurrection. 
Emblems of the bright and better land. 
Henry \YABSwoRTn Longfellow 



HYMN TO THE FLOWEPvS. 

Dat-staks ! that ope your eyes with morn 
to twinkle 
From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, 
And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle 
As a libation ! 

Ye matm worshippers ! who bending lowly 

Before the uprisen sun — God's lidless eye — 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
Incense on high ! 

Ye bright mosaics! that with storied beauty 

The floor of Nature's temple tessellate. 
What numerous emblems of instructive duty 
Your forms create ! 

'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that 
swingeth 
And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 
Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 
A call to prayer. 

Not to the domes where crimibling arch and 
column 
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand. 
But to that fane, most catholic and solemn. 
Which God hath planned ' 



NATURE AND THE POETS. 47 


To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, 


Posthumous glories ! angel-like collection ! 


"Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon 


Upraised from seed or bulb interred iu 


supply- 


earth, 


Its choir the winds and waves, its organ 


Y^'e are to me a type of resurrection, 


thunder, 


And second birth. 


Its dome the sky. 






Were I, God, in churchless lands remain- 


There — as in solitude and shade I wander 


ing, 


Through the green aisles, or, stretched upon 


Far from all voice of teachers or divines, 


the sod, 


My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordain- 


Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 
The ways of God — 


ing, 

Priests, sermons, shrines ! 




Horace S.mitu. 


Your voiceless lips, Flowers, are living 
preachers. 




♦ 


Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book. 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 


NATUEE AND THE POETS. 


From loneliest nook. 


I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill. 




The air was cooling, and so very still. 


Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendor 


That the sweet buds, which Avith a modest 


" Weep without woe, and blush without a 


pride 


crime," 


Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, 


may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender. 


Their scanty -leaved and finely-tapering stems. 


Your lore sublime ! 


Had not yet lost their starry diadems 




Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. 


" Thou wert not, Solomon ! in all thy glory. 


The clouds were pure and white as flocks 


Arrayed," the lilies cry, " in robes like 


new-shorn, 


ours ; 


And fresh from the clear brook ; sweetly 


How vain your grandeur ! Ah, how transitory 


they slept 


Are human flowers ! " 


On the blue fields of heaven, and tlien there 




crept 


In the sweet-scented pictures, Heavenly Art- 


A little noiseless noise among the leaves. 


ist! 


Born of the very sigh that silence heaves ; 


With which thou paintest Nature's wide- 


For not the faintest motion could be seen 


spread hall. 


Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. 


What a delightful lesson thou impartest 


There was wide wandering, for the greediest 


Of love to. all. 


eye 




To peer about upon variety — 


i^Tot useless are ye. Flowers ! though made 


Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim. 


for pleasure : 


And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim^ 


Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and 


To picture out the quaint and curious bend- 


night. 


ing 


From every source your sanction bids me 


Of a fresh woodland alley never-ending — 


treasure 


Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, 


Harmless delight. 


Guess where the jaunty streams refresh them- 




selves. 


Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoary 


I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free 


For such a world of thought could furnish 


As though the fanning wings of Mercury 


scope ? 


Had played upon my heels: I was light 


Each fading calyx a memento morl, 


hearted. 


Y"et fount of hope. 


And many pleasures to my vision started ; 



48 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



So I straiglitway began to pluck a posy, 
Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy : 
A busk of May-flowers with the bees about 

them; 
Ah, sure no tasteful nook could be without 

them ! 
And let a lush laburnum oversweep them. 
And let long grass grow round the roots, to 

keep them 
Moist, cool, and green ; and sliade the violets. 
That they may bind the moss in leafy nets. 

A lilbert-hedge with wild brier overtAAdned, 
And clumps of woodbine, taking the soft 

wind 
Upon their summer thrones ; there too should 

be 
The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, 
That with a score of light green brethren 

shoots 
From the quaint mossiness of aged roots, 
Eound Avhich is heard a spring-head of clear 

waters, 
Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters. 
The spreading blue-bells : it may haply mourn 
That such fair clusters should be rudely torn 
From their fresh beds, and, scattered thought- 
lessly 
By infant hands, left on the path to die. 

Open afresh your round of starry folds. 
Ye ardent marigolds ! 

Dry up the moisture from your golden lids. 
For great Apollo bids 
Tliat in these days your praises should be 

suug 
On many harps, Avhich he has lately strung ; 
And when again your dewiness he kisses, 
Tell him, I have you in my Avorld of blisses : 
So, haply, when I rove in some far vale. 
His mighty voice may come upon the gale. 

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight — 
"With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, 
And taper fingers catching at all things, 
Tl bind them all about with tiny rings. 
Linger aAvhile upon some bending planks 
That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks. 
And Avatch intently Nature's gentle doings : 
They Avill be found softer than ring-doves' 
cooings. 



How silent comes the water round that bend ! 
Not the minutest whisper does it send 
To the o'erhanging sallows : blades of grass 
SloAvly across the chequer'd shadows pass. 
Why yon might read two sonnets, ere they 

reach 
To AA'here the hurrying freshnesses aye preach 
A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds ; 
Where SAvarms of minnows shoAv their little 

heads. 
Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams. 
To taste the luxury of sunny beams 
Tempered Avith coolness. How they ever 

wrestle 
With their own sweet delight, and ever 

nestle 
Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand ! 
If you but scantily hold out the hand, 
That very instant not one will remain ; 
But turn your eye, and they are there again. 

The ripples seem right glad to reach those 

cresses. 
And cool themselves among the emerald 

tresses ; 
The Avhile they cool themselves, they fi-esh- 

ness give. 
And moisture, that the bowery green may live : 
So keeping up an interchange of favors. 
Like good men. in the truth of their beha- 
viors. 
Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop 
From loAV-hung branches ; little space they 

stop. 
But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek ; 
Then off at once, as in a wanton freak : 
Or perhaps, to shoAV their black and golden 

wings. 
Pausing upon their yelloAV flutterings. 

Were I in such a place, I sure should pray 
That nought less SAveet might call my thoughts 

aAvay, 
Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gOAvn 
Fanning aAvay the dandelion's down ; 
Than the light music of her nimble toes 
Patting against the sorrel as she goes. 
How she would start and blush, thus to be 

caught 
Playing in all her innocence of thought ' 



XATUKE AND THE POETS. 



49 



O let iiie lead her gently o'er the brook, 
Watch her half-smiling lips and downward 

look ; 
O let me for one moment tonch her wrist ; 
Let me one moment to her breathing list ; 
And as she leaves me, may she often turn 
Iler fair eyes looking through her locks au- 
burn. 

"What next ? a tuft of evening primroses, 
(D'er which the mind may hover till it dozes; 
O'er which it well might take a pleasant 

sleep, 
But that 'tis ever startled by the leap 
Of buds into ripe flowers ; or by the flitting 
Of divers moths, that aye their rest are quit- 
ting ; 
Or by the moon lifting her silver rim 
Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim 
Coming into the blue with all her light. 

O Maker of sweet poets ! dear delight 
Of this fair world and all its gentle livers ; 
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers, 
Mingler with leaves, and dew, and tumbling 

streams ; 
Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams ; 
Lover of loneliness, and wandering. 
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering ! 

Thee must I praise above all other glories 
That smile us on to tell delightful stories. 
For what has made the sage or poet write, 
But the fair paradise of Nature's light ? 
In the calm grandeur of a sober line, 
We see the waving of the mountain pine ; 
And when a tale is beautifully staid. 
We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade ; 
When it is moving on luxurious wings. 
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings ; 
Fair dewy roses brush against our faces. 
And flowering laurels spring from diamond 

vases ; 
O'erhead Ave see the jasmine and sweet- 
brier. 
And bloomy grapes laughing from green 

attire ; 
While at our feet, the voice of crystal bub- 
bles 
Charms us at once away from all our trou- 
bles, 

11 



So that we feel uplifted from the world, 
AYalking upon the white clouds wreathed and 
curled. 

So felt he who first told how Psyche Avent 
On the smooth Avind to realms of Avonder- 

ment ; 
What Psyclic felt, and Love, Avhen their full 

lips 
First touched; Avhat amorous and fondling 

nips 
They gave each other's cheeks — Avith all 

their sighs. 
And hoAV they kist each other's tremulous 

eyes ; 
The silver lamp — the ravishment — the Avon- 

der — 
The darkness — loneliness — the fearful thun- 
der ; 
Their Avoes gone by, and both to heaven up 

floAvn, 
To b(^AV for gratitude before Jove's throne. 

So did he feel, Avho pulled the boughs aside. 
That Ave might look into a forest wide. 
To catch a glimpse of Fauns, and Dryades 
Coming Avith softest rustle through the trees; 
And garlands Avoven of floAvers Avild, and 

sweet. 
Upheld 0^1 ivory wrists, or sporting feet : 
Telling us hoAv fair trembling Syrinx fled 
Arcadian Pan, Avith such a fearful dread. 
Poor iSTymph, — poor Pan, — how did he Aveep 

to find 
Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind 
Along the reedy stream ! a half-heard strain, 
Full of sweet desolation — balmy pain. 

What first inspired a bard of old to sing 
Narcissus pining o'er the untainted spring? 
In some delicious ramble he had found 
A little space, Avith boughs all Avoven round; 
And in the midst of all, a clearer pool 
Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool 
The blue sky here and there serenely peep- 
in"* 
Through tendril wreaths fantastically creep- 
ing. 
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, 
A meek and forlorn floAver, with nought of 
pride, 



50 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Drooping its beauty o'er tlie watery clear- 
ness, 

To woo its own sad image into nearness. 

Deaf to light Zepbyrus it would not move ; 

But still would seem to droop, to pine, to 
love. 

So wbile tbe poet stood in tins sweet spot, 

Some fainter gleamings o'er bis fancy sbot ; 

Nor was it long ere be bad told tbe tale 

Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's bale. 

Wliere liad be been, from whose warm 
bead outflew 
That sweetest of all songs, that ever knew 
That aye refreshing, pure deliciousness. 
Coming ever to bless 

The wanderer by moonlight — to him bring- 
ing 
Shapes from tbe invisible world, unearthly 

singing 
Fi'om out tbe middle air, from flowery nests, 
And from tbe pillowy silkiness that rests 
Full in tbe speculation of the stars ? 
Ah ! surely be had burst our 'mortal bars ; 
Into some wondrous region he had gone, 
To search for thee, divine Endymion ! 

He was a poet, sure a lover too, 
"Who stood on Latmos' top, what time there 

blew 
Soft breezes from the myrtle vale below ; 
And brought, in faintness solemn, sweet, and 

slow, 
A hymn from Dian's temple; while upsAvell- 

The incense went to her ovv'n starry dwell- 
ing. 

But though her face Avas clear as infants' 
eyes. 

Though she stood smiling o'er tbe sacrifice. 

The poet Avept at her so piteous fate. 

Wept that such beauty should be desolate. 

Bo in fine wrath some golden sounds be 
won, 

And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion. 

Queen of the wide air ; thou most lovely 
queen 
Of all ^he brightness that mine eyes have 
seen ! 



As thou exceedest all things in thy shine, 
So every tale does this sweet tale of thine. 
O for three words of honey, that I miglit 
Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night ! 

Where distant ships do seem to show tbeii 
keels, 
Phajbus awhile delayed his mighty Avbeels, 
iind turned to smile upon thy bashful eyes, 
Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize. 
Tbe evening weather was so bright, and clear, 
That men of health were of unusual cheer, 
Stepping like Homer at the trumpet's call. 
Or young Apollo on the pedestal ; 
And lovely women were as fair and warm. 
As Venus looking sideways in alarm. 

The breezes were ethereal, and pure, 

And crept through half-closed lattices to cure 

The languid sick : it cool'd their fever'd sleep. 

And soothed them into slumbers full and 
deep. 

Soon they awoke clear-eyed ; nor burn'd 
with thirsting. 

Nor with hot fingers, nor Avith temi)les burst- 
ing • 

And springing up, they met tbe Avondering 
sight 

Of their dear friends, nigh foolish Avitb de- 
light, 

Who feel their arms and breasts, and kiss, 
and stare, 

And on their placid "foreheads part the hair. 

Young men and maidens at each other gazed, 

With hands held back, and motionless, 
amazed 

To see tbe brightness in each other's eyes ; 

And so they stood, filled with a SAveet sur- 
prise. 

Until their tongues Avere loosed in poesy. 

Therefore no lover did of anguish die ; 

But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken, 

Made silken ties that never may be broken. 

Cynthia ! I cannot tell tbe greater blisses 
That foUoAv'd thine, and thy dear shepherd's 

kisses : 
Was there a poet born ? — But now no more — 
My wandering spirit must no farther soar. 

John Keats. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 51 




Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 


TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 


Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee; 




King Pandion, he is dead; 


XiGHTixGALE, tluit Oil vou Lloomy spray 


All thy friends are lapped in lead : 


Warblest at cvo, when all the woods are 


All thy fellow-bii'ds do sing, 


still, 


Careless of thy sorrowing! 


Thou Avith fresli hope the lover's heart dost 


AVhilst as fickle Fortune smiled, 


lill. 


Thou and I were both beguiled, 


Wliile the jolly hours lead on propitious 


Every one that flatters thee 


May. 


Is no friend in misery. 


Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day. 


Words are easy, like the wind ; 


First heard before the shallow cuckoo's 


Faithful friends are hard to find. 


bill, 


Every man will be thy friend 


Portend success in love. Oh if Jove's will 


Whilst thou hast Avherewith to spend ; 


Have linked that amorous power to thy 


But, if stores of crowns be scant. 


soft lay. 


No man v.'ill supply thy want. 


Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate 


If that one be prodigal. 


Foretell mj hopeless doom in some grove 


Bountiful they will him call ; 


nigh ; 


And, with such-like flattering. 


As thou from year to year hast sung too 


"Pity but he were a king." 


late 


If he be addict to vice, 


For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. 


Quickly him they Avill entice; 


WJiether the Muse or Love call thee his 


But if Fortune once do frown. 


mate, 


Then farewell his great renown : 


Hotli them I serve, and of their train am I. 


They that fawned on him before. 


John Milton. 


Use his company no more. 




He that is thy friend indeed. 


• — ♦ 


He will help thee in thy need ; 




If thou sorrow, he will weep, 


ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 


If thou wake, he cannot sleep. 




Thus, of every grief in heart, 


As it fell upon a day. 


He with thee doth bear a part. 


In the merry month of May, 


These are certain signs to know 


Sitting in a pleasan* shaile 


Faithful friend from flattering foe. 


Which a grove of myrtles made. 


ElCHAKD BaRXFIELD. 


Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, 




Trees did grow, and plants did spring ; 







Every thing did banish moan. 




Save the nightingale alone. 


TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 


She, poor bird, as all forlorn. 




Lean 'd her breast up-till a thorn ; 


Dear chorister, who from those shadows 


And there sung the dolefull'st ditty 


sends — 


That to hear it was great pity. 


Ere that the blushing morn dare show her 


Fie, fie, fie ! now would she cry ; 


light- 


Teru, tern, by-and-by ; 


Such sad lamenting strains, that night at- 


That, to hear her so complain, 


tends. 


Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 


Become all ear, stars stay to hear tliy plight; 


For her griefs, so lively shown. 


If one whose grief even reach of thought 


Made me think upon mine own. 


transcends. 


Ah ! (thought I) thou mourn 'st in vain ; 


Who ne'er (not in a dream) did taste delight. 


None takes pity on thy pain ; 


May thee importune wlio like case pretends. 



rOEMS OF NATURE, 



And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite ; 
Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, 
And long, long sing!) for wbfit thou thus 

complains, 
Since Winter 's gone, and sun in dappled sky 
Enamored smiles on woods and flowery 

plains ? 

The bird, as if my questions did lier move. 

With trembling wings sighed forth, "I love, 

I love." 

"William Deummond. 



ODE TO A NIGIITIXGALE. 

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk ; 
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute past, and Lethe-ward had sunk. 
'T is not through envy of thy happy lot. 

But being too happy in thy happiness, 
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees. 
In some melodious plot 

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
Singest of Summer in full-throated ease. 

Oh for a draught of vintage 

Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth, 
Tasting of Flora and the country green, 
Dance, and Provengal song, and sun-burned 
mirth ! 
Oh for a beaker full of the warm South, 

Full of the true, the blushful Ilippocrene, 
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim. 
And purple-stained mouth — 
That I might drink, and leave the world 
\mseen. 
And with thee fade away into the forest dim. 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 
What thou among the leaves hast never 
known — 
The Aveariness, the fever, and the fret ; 
Here, where men sit and hear each other 
groan — 
Where palsy shakes a few sad, last gray 
hairs — 
Where youth grows paJe, and spectre-thin, 
and dies — 



Where but to think is to be full of sorrow, 
And leaden-eyed despairs — 
Where beauty caniiot keep her lustroui 
eyes. 

Or new love pine at them beyond to-morrow 

Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee ! 

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 
But on the viewless wings of poesy, 

Though the dull brain perplexes and re 
tards ; 
Already with thee tender is the night. 

And haply the queen-moon is on her throne, 
Clustered around by all her starry fays ; 
But here there is no light. 
Save Avhat from heaven is with the breezes 
blown 
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy 
ways. 

I can not see what flowers are at my feet, 
Nor Avhat soft incense hangs upon tlit 
boughs ; 
But, in embalmed darkness guess each SAveet 
WhereAvith the seasonable month endoAvs 
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree 
wild : 
White liaAvthorn and tlie pastoral eglantine ; 
Fast-fading violets, covered up in leaves ; 
And mid-May's oldest child. 
The coming musk-rose, full of dcAvy Avine, 
The murmurous haunt of bees on summei 
eves. 

Darkling I listen ; and for many a time 

I bave been half in love with easeful Death. 
Called him soft names in many a mused 
rhyme, 
To take into the air my quiet breath ; 
NoAV, more than ever, seems it rich to die. 

To cease upon the midnight, Avith no pain, 
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad. 
In such an ecstasy ! 
Still Avouldst tliou sing, and I have ears in 
A'ain — 
To thy high requiem become a sod. 

Thou Avast not born for death, immortal bird I 
No hungry generations tread thee doAvn ; 

The voice I hear this passing night was heard 
In ancient days by emperor and cloAvn : 



THE NIGHT IX a ALE. 



Perhaps the selt'-.sa!ne suui^ tliat found a path 
Through the sad heart of liuth, when, sick 
for home, 
Siie stood in tears amid the alien corn : 
Tlie same tliat oft-times hath 
Charmed magic casements opening on the 
foam 
Of perilous seas, in fairy lauds forlorn. 

Forlorn ! the very word i^ like a bell. 

To toll me back from thee to my sole self! 
Adieu ! the Fancy can not cheat so well 

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 
Past the near meadows, over the still 
stream, 
Cp the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep 
In the next valley-glades : 
Was it a vision or a waking dream ? 
Fled is that music— do I wake or sleep? 

John Keats. 



PHILOMELA. 

Bakk! ah, the Nightingale! 
Tlie tawny-throated ! 

Ilark ! from that moonlit cedar what a burst ! 
What triumph ! hark — what pain ! 
O wanderer from a G recian shore, 
Still — after many years, in distant lands — 
Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain 
That wild, unquer;hed, deep-sunken, old- 
world pain— . 

Say, will it never heal ? 
And can this fragrant lawn, 
With its cool trees, and night, 
And the sweet, tranquil Thames, 
And moonshine, and the dew. 
To thy racked heart and brain 
Aflord no balm? 

Dost thou to-night behold. 
Here, through the moonlight on this English 

grass. 
The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild ? 

Dost thou again peruse, 
With hot cheeks and seared eyes. 
The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's 
shame ? 



Dost thou once more essay 
Thy flight; and feel come over thee. 
Poor fugitive, the feathery change ; 
Once more ; and once more make resound. 
With love and hate, triumph and agony. 
Lone Daulis, and the high Cephisian vale ? 

Listen, Eugenia — 

How thick the bursts come crowding through 

the leaves ! 

Again — thou hearest ! 

Eternal passion ! 

Eternal pain! 

Mattuew Aunold 



THE JflGHTIXGALE AND THE DOVE, 

NiGHTixGALE ! thou surely art 
A. creature of a "fiery heart" ; 

These notes of thine, — they pierce and pierce: 

Tumultuous harmony and fierce ! 

Thou sing'st as if the god of wine 

Had helped thee to a valentine — 

A song in mockery, and despite 

Of shades, and dews, and silent night. 

And steady bliss, and all the loves 

Now sleeping in these peaceful groves. 

1 heard a stock-dove sing or say 
His homely tale, this very day ; 
His voice was buried among trees. 
Yet to be come at by the breeze : 

He did not cease ; but cooed — and cooed ; 
And somewhat pensively he wooed : 
He sang of love, with quiet blending, 
Slow to begin, and never ending ; 
Of serious faith, and inward glee ; 
That was the song, the song for me ! 

'\ViLLiAM Wordsworth. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 

No cloud, no relict of t!ie sunken day 
Distinguishes the West ; no long thin slip 
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. 
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge! 
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, 
But hear no murmuring ; it flows silently 



5-i 



POEMS OF NATUEE. 



O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still ; 
A balmy night ! and tliougli the stars be dim, 
Yet let ns think upon the vernal showers 
That gladden the green earth, and we shall 

find 
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. 
And hark ! the Nightingale begins its song — 
" ;Most musical, most melancholy " bird ! 
A melaiicholy bird ! Ob, idle thought*! 
In Nature there is nothing melancholy. 
But some night-wandering man, whose heart 

was pierced 
With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, 
Or slow distemper, or neglected love, 
(And so, poor wretch ! filled all things with 

himself, 
And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 
Of his own sorrow) — he, and such as he. 
First named tliese notes a melancholy strain. 
And many a i^oet echoes the conceit — 
Poet who hath been building up the rhyme 
"When he had better far have stretched his 

limbs 
Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell. 
By sun or moonlight ; to the influxes 
Of shapes, and sounds, and shifting elements, 
Surrendering his whole spirit; of his song 
And of his fame forgetful ! so his fame 
Should share in Nature's immortality — 
A venerable thing ! — and so his song 
Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself 
Be loved like Nature ! But 'twill not be so ; 
And youths and maidens most j^oetical. 
Who lose the deepening twilights, of the 

Spring 
In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still, 
Full of meek sympathy, must heave their 

sighs 
O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains. 

My friend, and thou, our sister! we have 

learnt 
A different lore : we may not thus profane 
Nature's sweet voices, always full of love 
And joyance ! 'T is the merry Nightingale 
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates 
With fast thick warble his delicious notes, 
As he were fearfid that an April flight 
Would be too short for him to utter forth 
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul 
Of all its music ! 



And I know a grove 
Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, 
Which the great lord inhabits not ; and so 
This grove is wild with tangling underAvood; 
And the trim Avalks are broken up ; and grass. 
Thin grass and kingcups grow Avithin the paths. 
But never elsewhere in one place I knew 
So many nightingales. And far and near, 
In Avood and thicket, over the Avide grove, 
They ansAver and provoke each otlier's song 
With skirmish and capricious passagings. 
And murmurs musical and SAvift jug jug. 
And one Ioav piping sound more SAVcet than 

all- 
Stirring the air Avith such a hai'mony. 
That should you close your eyes, you might 

almost 
Foi-get it was not day ! On moon-lit bushes. 
Whose dcAvy leaflets are but half disclosed. 
Yon may perchance behold them on the tAvigs, 
Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both 

bright and full, 
Glistening, while many a gloAVAvorm in the 

shade 
Lights up her love-torch. 

A most gentle maid, 
AYho clAvelkth in her liospitable home 
Hard by the castle, and at latest eve, 
(Even like a lady vowed and dedicate 
To something more than Nature in the grove,) 
Glides through the pathways — she knoAvs all 

their notes. 
That gentle maid ! and oft, a moment's space. 
What time the moon was lost behind a cloud, 
Ilath heard a pause of silence ; till the moon, 
Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky 
With one sensation, and these wakeful birds 
Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy. 
As if some sudden gale had SAvept at once 
A hundred airy harps ! And she hath 

watched 
Many a nightingale perched giddily 
On blossomy twig still swinging from tlie 

breeze, 
And to that motion tune his Avanton song, 
Like tipsy Joy that reels Avith tossing head. 

FarcAvell, O Avarbler ! till to-morroAV eve ; 
And you, my friends ! farcAvell, a short fare- 
well ! 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 



We have been loitering long and pleasantly, 
And now for our dear Lomes. — That strain 

aii'ain ! 
Full fain it would delay me ! My dear babe, 
Who, capable of no articulate sound, 
Mars all things with liis imitative lisp, 
How lie would place his hand beside his ear, 
His little hand, the small forefinger up. 
And bid us listen ! And I deem it wise 
To make him Nature's playmate. He knows 

well 
The evening-star ; and once Avhen he awoke 
In most distressful raood, (some inward pain 
Had made up that strange thing, an infant's 

dream,) 
I hurried with him to our orchard-plot. 
And he beheld the moon ; and, hushed at once, 
Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently. 
While his fair eyes, that swam with undrop- 

ped tears. 
Did glitter in the yellow moonbeam ! Well ! — 
It is a father's tale ; but if that Heaven 
Should give me life, his childhood shall grow 

up 
Familiar with these songs, that Avith the 

night 

He may associate joy. — Once more, farewell. 

Sweet Nightingale ! Once more, my friends ! 

farewell. 

Samuel Taylou Coleuidgk. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 

Prize thou the nightingale. 
Who soothes thee with his tale, 
And wakes the woods around ; 
A singing feather he — a winged and wander- 
ing sound ; 

Whose tender caroling 
Sets all ears listening 
Unto that living Ijtc, 
Whence How the airy notes his ecstacies in- 
spire ; 

Wliose shrill, capricious song 
Breathes like a flute along. 
With many a careless tone — 
Music of thousand tongues, formed by one 
tongue alone. 



O charming creature rare ! 
Can aught with thee compare ? 
Thou art all song — thy breast 
Thrills for one month o' th' year — is tranquil 
all the rest. 

Thee wondrous we may call — 
Most wondrous this of all. 
That such a tiny throat 
Should wake so loud a sound, and pour so 
loud a note. 

Maria Tesselsciiade Tissciiee. (Dutcli) 
Translation of John Boweing. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 

The rose looks out in the valley. 

And thither will I go ! 
To the rosy vale, where the nightingale 

Sings liis song of woe. 

The virgin is on the river side, 

Culling the lemons pale : 
Thither — yes ! thither will I go, 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 

The fairest fruit her hand hath culled, 

'T is for her lover all : 
Thither — yes ! thither Avill I go. 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale, 
Sings his song of woe. 

In her hat of straw, for her gentle swain. 

She has placed the lemons pale : 
Thither — yes ! thither will I go, 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 

Gil Yicente. (Portugueso) 
Translation of Joiix Bowking. 



THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE. 

I HAVE seen a nightingale 
On a sprig of thyme bewail. 
Seeing the dear nest, which was 
Hers alone, borne otf, alas ! 
By a laborer ; I heard. 
For this outrage, the poor bird 



56 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Say a thousand mournful things 
To the wind, which, on its wings. 
From her to the guardian of the sky. 
Bore her melancholy cry — 
Bore her tender tears. She spake 
As if her fond heart would break : 
One while, in a sad, sweet note, 
Gurgled from her straining throat, 
She enforced her piteous tale. 
Mournful prayer, and plaintive wail ; 
One Avhile, with the shrill dispute 
Quite outwearied, she was mute ; 
Then afresh, for her dear brood. 
Her harmonious shrieks renewed. 
Now she winged it round and round ; 
ISTow she skimmed along the ground ; 
Now, from bough to bough, in haste. 
The delighted robber chased, 
And, alighting in his path. 
Seemed to say, 'twixt grief and wrath, 
" Give me back, fierce rustic rude — • 
Give me back my pretty brood ! " 
And I saw the rustic still 
Answered, " That, I never will ! " 

EsTEVAN Manuel de Villegas. (Spanish) 
rranslatiou of Tiiohas IIoscoe • 



TlIE NIGHTINGALE'S DEPARTURE. 

Sweet iioet of the woods — a long adieu ! 

Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year ! 
Ah ! 't will be long ere thou shalt sing anew. 
And pour thy music on " the night's dull 
ear." 
Whether on Spring thy wandering flights 
await. 
Or whether silent in our groves you d^vell. 
The pensive Muse shall own thee for her 
mate. 
And still protect the song she loves so well. 
With cautious step the love-lorn youth shall 
glide 
Through the long brake that shades thy 
mossy nest ; 
And shepherd girls from eyes profane shall 
hide 
The gentle bird who sings of pity best : 
For still thy voice shall soft affections move. 
And still be dear to sorrow, and to love ! 
Charlotte Smith. 



TO A WATERFOWL. 

Whither, 'midst falling dew. 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of 

day. 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thoxi 
pursue 
Thy solitary way 'i 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee 

wrong. 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 

Thy flgure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide. 
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean side ? 

There is a power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — 
The desert and illimitable air, — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land. 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and 

rest, 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds sliall 
bend. 
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my 

heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart : 

He who, from zone to zone. 
Guides through the boundless sky tliy certain 

flight. 
In the long way that I must tread alone. 

Will lead my steps aright. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



S i: M M E R . 57 


• 

THE VOICE OF THE GRASS. 


JULY. 


Eei;k I come creeping, creeping every wliere ; 


Loud is the Summer's busy song. 


By the (lusty roadside, 


The smallest breeze can find a tongue, 


On the sunny hill-side, 


Wliile insects of each tiny size 


Close by the noisy brook, 


Grow teasing with their melodies. 


In every shady nook, 


Till noon burns with its blistering breath 


I come creeping, creeping every where. 


Around, and day lies still as deatli. 


Here I come creeping, smiling every -where ; 


The busy noise of man and brute 


All round the open door. 


Is on a sudden lost and mute ; 


Where sit the aged poor ; 


Even the brook tliat leaps along. 


Here wliere the children play, 


Seems weary of its bubbling song. 


In the bright and merry May, 


And, so soft its waters creep. 


I come creeping, creeping every where. 


Tired silence sinks in sounder sleep ; 


Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 


The cricket on its bank is dumb ; 


In the noisy city street 


The very flies forget to hum ; 


My pleasant face you'll meet. 


And, save the Avagon rocking ronnd. 


Cheering the sick at heart 


The landscape sleeps without a sound. 


Toiling his busy part — 


The breeze is stopped, the lazy bough 


Silently creeping, creeping every where. 


Hath not a leaf that danceth now ; 


Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 


The taller grass upon the hill. 


You cannot see me coming, 


And spider's threads, are standing still ; 


Nor hear my low sweet humming ; 


The feathers, dropped from moorhen's wing 


For in the starry night. 


AVhich to the water's surface cling, 


And the glad morning light. 


Are steadfast, and as heavy seem 


I come quietly creeping every where, 


As stones beneath them in the stream ; 


Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 


Ilawkweed and groundsel's fanny downs 


More welcome than the flowers 


Unrutfled keep their seedy crowns ; 


In Summer's pleasant hours ; 


And in the over-heated air 


The gentle cow is glad, 


Not one light thing is floating there. 


And the merry bird not sad. 


Save that to the earnest eye 


To see lue creeping, creeping every where. 


The restless heat seems t-wittering by. 


Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 


Noon swoons beneath the heat it made, 


When you're numbered with the dead 


And flowers e'en within the shade ; 


In your still and narrow bed, 


Until the sun slopes in the west. 


In the happy Spring I '11 come 


Like weary traveller, glad to rest 


And deck your silent home — 


On pillowed clouds of many hues. 


Creeping, silently creeping every where. 


Then' Nature's voice its joy renews, 


Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 


And checkered field and grassy plain 


My humble song of praise 


Hum with their summer songs again, 


Most joyfully I raise 


A requiem to the day's decline. 


To Him at whose command 


"Whose setting sunbeams coolly shine 


I beautify the land, 


As welcome to day's feeble powers 


Cree])iug, silently creeping every wliere. 


As falling dews to thirsty flowers. 


Sakaii Kouekts. 

1-2 


John Clare. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



SONG. 

Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And tune his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
^^'ome hither, come hither, come hither; 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
l>ut Winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun 
And loves to live i' the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats, 
And pleased with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But Winter and rough weather. 

Shakespeare. 



THE GREENWOOD. 

Oil ! when 'tis summer weather. 
And the yellow bee, with fairy sound, 
The waters clear is bumming round, 
And tlie cuckoo sings tmseen, 
And the leaves are waving green — 

Oh ! then 't is sweet. 

In some retreat. 
To hear the murmuring dove. 
With those whom on earth alone we love. 
And to wind through the greenwood together. 

But when 'tis winter weather. 

And crosses grieve. 

And friends deceive. 

And rain and sleet 

The lattice beat, — 

Oh ! then 't is sweet 

To sit and sing 
Of the friends with whom, in the days of 

Spring, 
We roamed through the greenwood together. 
William Lisle Bowles. 



COME TO THESE SCENES OF PEACE 

Come to these scenes of peace. 
Where, to rivers mui'muring. 
The sweet birds all the Summer sing. 
Where cares, and toil, and sadness cease ! 
Stranger, does thy heart dejjlore 
Friends whom thou wilt see no more? 
Does thy wounded spirit prove 
Pangs of hopeless, severed love ? 
Thee, the stream that gushes clear — 
Thee, the birds that carol near 
Shall soothe, as silent thou dost lie 
And dream of their wild lullaby ; 
Come to bless these scenes of peace. 
Where cares, and t<y\\, and sadness cease. 
William Lisle Bowles. 



THE GARDEN. 

How vainly men themselves amaze, 
To win the palm, the oak, or bays : 
And their incessant labors see 
Crowned from some single herb, or tree, 
Whose short and narrow-verged shade 
Does prudently their toils upbraid ; 
While all the flowers, and trees, do close, 
To weave the garlands of repose. 

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, 
And Innocence, thy sister dear ? 
Mistaken long, I sought you then 
In busy companies of men. 
Your sacred plants, if here below. 
Only among the plants will grow 
Society is all but rude 
To this delicious solitude. 

No white nor red -was ever seen 

So amorous as this lovely green. 

Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, 

Cut in these trees their mistress' narao 

Little, alas ! they know or heed. 

How far these beauties her exceed ! 

Fair trees ! where'er your barks I wound, 

No name shall but your own be found. 

Wlien we liave run our passion's heat. 
Love hither makes his best retreat. 



I 



THE GARDEX 



The gods, who mortal beauty chase, 
Still in a tree did end their race. 
Apollo hunted Daphne so, 
Only that she might laurel grow : 
And Pan did after Syrinx speed, 
Not as a nymph, but for a reed. 

What Avondrous life in this I lead I 
Ripe apples drop about my head ; 
The luscious clusters of the vine 
Upon my mouth do crush their wine ; 
The nectarine, and curious peach. 
Into my hands themselves do reach ; 
Stumbling on melons, as I pass, 
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 

Meanwhile the mind from p>leasure less 

"Withdraws into its happiness. • 

The mind, that ocean where each kind 

Does straight its own resemblance find ; 

Yet it creates, transcending these. 

Far other worlds and other seas ; 

Annihilating all that 's made 

To a green thouglit in a green shade. 

Here at the fountain's sliding foot, 
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root. 
Casting the body's vest aside, 
My soul into the boughs does glide ; 
There, like a bird, it sits and sings. 
Then Avhets and claps its silver wings, 
And, till prepared for longer flight. 
Waves in its plumes the various light. 

Such was the happy garden state, 
While man there walked without a mate : 
After a place so pure and sweet, 
What other help could yet be meet ! 
But 't was beyond a mortal's share 
To wander solitary there ; 
Two paradises are in one, 
To live in paradise alone. 

flow well the skilful gardener drew 
Of flowers, and herbs, this dial new ! 
Where, from above, the milder sun 
Does through a fragrant zodiac run : 
And, as it works, th' industrious bee 
Computes its time as well as we. 
Mow could such sweet and wholesome hours 
F5e reckoned, but Avith herbs and flowers ? 
Andrew Makvf.ll. 



THE GARDEN". 

Happy art thou, whom God does bless, 
AVith the full choice of thine own happiness; 

And happier yet, because thou 'rt blest 

With prudence, how to choose the best : 
In books and gardens thou hast placed aright 

(Things, which thou well dost understand ; 
And both dost make with thy laborious hand) 

Thy noble, innocent delight ; 
And in thy virtuous wife, Avhere thou again 
dost meet 

Both pleasures more refined and sweet ; 

The fairest garden in her looks. 

And in her mind the wisest books. 
Oh, who would change these soft, yet solid 
joys. 

For empty shows and senseless noise ; 

And all which rank ambition breeds, 
Which seems such beauteous floAvers, and are 
such poisonous weeds ? 

When God did man to his OAvn likeness make. 

As much as clay, though of the purest kind, 
By the great potter's art refined. 
Could the divine impression take, 
He thought it fit to place him, Avhere 
A kind of Heaven too did appear, 

As far as Earth could such a likeness bear : 
That man no happiness might Avant, 

Which Earth to her first master could afford, 
He did a garden for him plant 

By the quick hand of his onmipotent Avord. 

As the chief help and joy of Imman life. 

He gave him the first gift ; first, even before 
a Avife. 

For God, the universal architect 

'T had been as easy to erect 
A Louvre or Escurial, or a toAver 
That might with Heaven communication hold, 
As Babel vainly thought to do of old : 

He Avanted not the skill or poAver ; 

In the world's fabric those were shown, 
And the materials Avere all his own. 
But Avell he kneAA^, Avhat jilace Avould best 

agree 
With innocence and Avith felicity ; 
And Ave elscAvhere still seek for them in vain; 
If any part of either yet remain. 



CO 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



If any i)art of either we expect, 
This may our judgment in the search direct; 
God tlie first garden made, and the first city 
Cain. 

U blessed shades ! O gentle cool retreat 

From all th' hnmoderate heat, 
In which the frantic world does burn and 

sweat ! 
This does the Lion-star, ambition's rage ; 
This avarice, the Dog-star's thirst, assuage ; 
Every where else their fatal power we see ; 
They make and rule man's wretched destiny: 

They neitlier set, nor disappear. 

But tyrannize o'er all the year ; 
Whilst we ne'er feel their flame or influence 
here. 

The birds that dance from bough to bough, 

And sing above in every tree, 

Are not from fears and cares more free 
Than Ave, who lie, or sit, or walk, below, 

And should by right be singers too. 
^Yhat prince's choir of music can excel 

That, which within this shade does dwell ? 

To which we nothing pay or give ; 
They, like all other poets, live 
Without reward, or thanks for their obliging 
pains ; 
'T is well if they become not prey. 
The whistling winds add their less artful 

strains. 
And a grave bass the murmuring fountains 

play ; 
Nature does all this harmony bestow, 

But to our plants, art's music too, • 
The pipe, theorbo, and guitar, we owe ; 
The lute itself, which once was green and 
mute, 
When Orpheus strook th' inspired lute. 
The trees danced round, and understood 
By sympathy the voice of wood. 

These are the spells, that to kind sleep invite. 
And nothing does within resistance make. 
Which yet we moderately take ; 
Who would not choose to be awake. 
While he 's encompast round with such de- 

light. 
To til' ear, the nose, the touch, the taste, and 
sight ? 



When Venus would her dear Ascanius keep 
A prisoner in the downy bamls of slee]>, 
The odorous herbs and flowers beneath hiin 
spread, 

As the most soft and sweetest bed ; 
Not her own lap would more have charmed 

liis head. 
Who, that has reason and his smell, 
AVould not among roses and jasmine dwell. 

Rather than all his spirits choke, 
With exhalations of dirt and smoke, 

And all th' uncleanness which does drown. 
In pestilential clouds, a populous town ? 
The earth itself breathes better perfumes 

here. 
Than all the female men, or women, there 
Not without cause, about them bear. 

When Epicurus to the world had taught, 

That pleasure was the chiefest good, 
(And was, perhaps, i' th' right, if rightly un- 
derstood) 

His life he to his doctrine brought. 
And in a garden's shade that sovereign plea 

sure sought : 
Whoever a true epicure would be, 
May there find cheap and virtuous luxury. 
Vitellius's table, which did hold 
As many creatures as the ark of old ; 
That fiscal table, to which every day 
All countries did a constant tribute pay, 
Could nothing more delicious aftord 

Than Nature's liberality, 
Helped with a little art and industry. 
Allows the meanest gardener's board. 
The wanton taste no fish or fowl can choose. 
For which the grape or melon she would 

lose ; 
Though all th' inhabitants of sea and air 
Be listed in the glutton's bill of fare, 

Yet still the fruits of earth we see 
Placed the third story high in all her luxury. 

But with no sense the garden does comply, 
None courts, or flatters, as it does, the eye. 
When the great Hebrew king did almost 

strain 
The wondrous treasures of his wealth, and 

brain. 
Ills roval southern guest to entertain ; 



I 



THE GARDEN 



01 



Though she on silver floors did tread, 
With briglit Assyrian carpets on them spread, 
To liide the metal's poverty ; 
Tliough she looked up to roofs of gold. 
And nought around her could behold 
But silk, and rich embroidery. 
And Babylonish tapestry, 
And -wealthy Hiram's princely dye ; 
Though Ophir's starry stones met every 

■where her eye ; 
Though she herself and her gay host were 

drest 
\Yith all the shining glories of the East ; 
"When lavish Art her costly -work had done, 

The honor and the prize of bravery 
^Yas by the garden from the palace won 
And every rose and lily there did stand 

Better attired by Nature's hand. 
The case thus judged against the king we see, 
By one, that would not be so rich, though 
wiser far than he, 

Nor does this happy place only dispense 
Such various pleasures to the sense ; 
Here health itself does live. 

That salt of life which does to all a relish give, 

lis standing pleasure and intrinsic wealth. 

The body's virtue and the soul's good-foi"- 
tune, health. 

The tree of life, when it in Eden stood. 

Did its immortal head to Heaven rear ; 

It lasted a tall cedar, till the flood ; 

Now a small thorny shrub it does appear ; 
ISTor will it thrive too every where: 
It always,here is freshest seen 
'Tis ouly here an evergreen. 
If, through the strong and beauteous fence 
Of temperance and innocence, 

And wholesome labors, and a quiet mind, 
Any diseases passage find, 
TJiey must not think here to assail 

A land unarmed or without a guard ; 

They must fight for it, and dispute it hard. 
Before they can prevail : 
Scarce any plant is growing here, 

Which against death some weauon does not 
bear. 
Let cities boast that they provide 
For life the ornaments of pride ; 
But 'tis the country and tlie field. 
That furnish it with statl'aiid shield. 



Where does the wisdom and the power divine 
In a more bright and sweet reflection shine ? 
W'here do we finer strokes and colors see 
Of the Creator's real poetry, 

Than when we with attention look 
Upon the third day's volume of the book ? 
If we could open and intend our eye. 

We all, like Moses, should espy 
Even in a bush the radiant Deity. 
But we despise these, his inferior ways, 
(Though no less full of miracle and praise.) 

IJpon the flowers of Heaven we gaze ; 
The stars of Earth no Avonder in lis raise ; 

Though these perhaps do, more than they, 
The life of mankind sway. 
Although no part of mighty Nature be 
More stored with beauty, power and mystery: 
Yet, to encourage human industry, 
God has so ordered, that no other part 
Such space and such dominion leaves for Art. 

We nowhere Art do so triumphant see, 

As when it grafts or buds the tree. 
In other things we count it to excel. 
If it a docile scholar can appear 
To Nature, and but imitate her well ; 
It over-rules and is her master, here. 
It imitates her Maker's power divine. 
And changes her sometimes, and sometimes 

does refine. 
It does, like grace, the fallen tree restx)re 
To its blest state of Paradise before. 
Who would not joy to see his conquering hand 
O'er all the vegetable world command ? 
And the wild giants of the wood receive 

What law he 's pleased to give ? 
He bids th' ill-natured crab produce 
The gentle apple's winy juice. 

The golden fruit that worthy is 

Of Galatea's purple kiss. 

He does the savage liaAvthorn teach 

To bear the medlar and the pear ; 

He bids the rustic plum to rear 

A noble trunk, and be a peach. 

Ev'n Daphne's coyness he does mock, 

And weds the cherry to her stock, 

ThoTigh she refused Apollo's suit ; 

Even she, that chaste and virgin tree. 

Now wonders at herself, to see 
That she's a mother made, and blushes in her 
fruii. 






H2 



POEMS OF XATURE, 



Metliiiiks I see great Dioclesian walk 
111 tlie Saloniau garden's noble shade, 
Wliicli by his own imperial hands was made. 
£ see him smile, methinks, as he does talk 
With the ambassadors, who come in vain 

T' entice him to a throne again. 
" If I, my friends," (said he,) " should to you 

show 
All the delights which in these gardens grow, 
'Tis likelier, much, that you should with me 

stay, 
Than 'tis that you should carry me away ; 
And trust me not, my friends, if every day, 

I Avalk not here with more delight 

Than ever, after the most happy siglit, 

la triumph to the Capitol I rode 

To thank the gods, and to be thongiit myself 

almost a god," 

Abraham Cowlet. 



INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE. 

Beneath this stony roof reclined, 
I soothe to peace my pensive mind; 
And while, to shade my lowly cave, 
Embowering elms their umbrage wave ; 
And while the maple dish is mine — 
The beechen cup, unstained with •vine — 
I scorn the gay licentious crowd. 
Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. 

Within my limits, lone and still. 
The black-bird pipes in artless trill ; 
Fast by my couch, congenial guest, 
The wren has wove her mossy nest ; 
From busy scenes, and brighter skies. 
To lurk with innocence, sLe flies, 
Here hopes in safe repose to dwell, 
Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell. 

At morn I take my customed round, 
To mark how buds yon shrubby mound. 
And every opening primrose count, 
That trimly paints my blooming mount ; 
Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude, 
That grace my gloomy solitude, 
I teach in winding wreaths to stray 
Fantastic ivy's gadding spray. 



At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book, 

Portrayed with many a holy deed 

Of martyrs, crowned with heavenly meed. 

Then, as my taper waxes dim. 

Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn, 

And at the close, the gleams behold 

Of parting wings, be-dropt with gold. 

While such pure joys my bliss create. 
Who but would smile at guilty state ? 
Who but would wish his holy lot 
In calm oblivion's humble grot? 
Who but would cast his pomp away, 
To take my staff, and amice gray ; 
And to the Avorld's tumultuous stage 
Prefer the blameless hermitage? 

TnoMAS 'Warton, 



THE RETIREMENT, 

Fakewell, thou busy world, and may 
We never meet again ; 
Here I can cat, and sleep, and pray. 
And do more good in one short day, 
Than he who his whole age out-wears 
Upon the most conspicuous theatres. 
Where nought but vanity and vice appears. 

Good God! how sweet are all things here! 
How beautiful the fields appear ! 

How cleanly do we feed and lie ! 
Lord ! what good hours do we keep ' 
How quietly we sleep ! 

What peace, what unanimity ! 
How innocent from the lewd fashion. 
Is all our business, all our z-ecreation ! 

Oh, how happy here 's our leisure ! 
Oh, how innocent our pleasure ! 
O ye valleys ! O ye mountains ! 
O ye groves, and crystal fountains ! 
How I love, at liberty. 
By turns to come and visit ye ! 

Dear solitude, the soul's best friend. 
That man acquainted with himself dost make, 
And all his Maker's wonders to intend. 



THE USEFUL PLOUGH. 



03 



■Witli thee I here converse at will, 
And Avould be ghxd to do so still, 
For is it thou alone that keep'st the soiil 
awake. 

How calm and quiet a delight 
Is it, alone 

To read, and meditate, and write, 

By none oflfended, and offending none ! 

To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own 
ease; 
And, pleasing a man's self, none otlicr to dis- 
please. 

my beloved nymph, fair Dove, 
Princess of rivers, how I love 

Upon thy flowery banks to lie. 
And view thy silver stream, 
"When gilded by a Summer's beam ! 
And in it all thy wanton fry 
Playing at liberty. 
And, with my angle, upon them. 
The all of treachery 

1 ever learned industriously to try ! 

Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cauuot 

show, 
The Iberian Tagus, or Ligurian Po ; 
The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine, 
Are puddle-water, all, compared with thine ; 
And Loire's pure streams yet too polluted are 
With thine, much purer, to compare ; 
The rapid Garonne and the winding Seine 
Are both too mean. 

Beloved Dove, with thee 

To vie priority ; 
Nay, Tame and Isis, when conjoined, submit, 
And lay their trophies at thy silver feet. 

O ray beloved rocks, that rise 

To awe the earth and brave the skies ! 

From some aspiring moimtain's crown 

How deai'ly do I love. 
Giddy with pleasure, to look down ; 
And, from the vales, to view the noble heights 

above ; 
my beloved caves ! from dog-star's heat. 
And all anxieties, my safe retreat ; 
"What safety, privacy, what true dehght. 
In the artificial night 



Your gloomy entrails make. 

Have I taken, do I take ! 
How oft, when grief has made me fly. 
To hide me from society 
E'en of my dearest friends, have I, 

In your recesses' friendly shade, 

All my sorrows open laid. 
And my most secret woes intrusted to your 
privacy ! 

Lord ! woifld men let me alone, 
"What an over-happy one 

Should I think myself to be — 
Mght I in this desert place, 
(Which most men in discourse disgrace,) 

Live but undistiu'bed and free ! 
Here, in this despised recess. 

Would I, maugre Winter's cold, 
And the Summer's worst excess. 
Try to Ave out to sixty full yeai's oLl : 
And, all the while. 

Without an envious eye 
On any thriving under Fortune's smile. 
Contented live, and then contented die. 

Charles Cottc .v. 



THE USEFUL PLOUGH. 

A couxTET life is sweet ! 
In moderate cold and heat. 

To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair ! 
In every field of wheat. 

The fairest of flowei's adorning the bowers, 
And every meadow's brow ; 

So that I say, no courtier may 

Compare with them who clothe in gray. 
And follow the useful plough. 

They rise with the morning lark. 
And labor tiU almost dark ; 

Then folding their sheep, they hasten to 
sleep ; 
While every pleasant park 

ISText morning is ringing with birds that arc 
singing, 
On each green, tender bough. 

With what content and merriment 
Their days are spent, whose minds are bent 

To foUow the useful plough ! 

AXOXTMOUS. 



64 



POEMS OF NATURE 



EEVE DU MIDI. 

When o'er the moiiutaiu steeps, 
The hazy noontide creeps, 
And the shrill cricket sleeps 
Under the grass ; 
"When soft the shadows lie, 
And clouds sail o'er the sky. 
And the idle winds go hy, 
"With the heavy scent of hlossoms as they 
pass — 

Then when the silent stream 
Lapses as in a dream. 
And the water-lilies gleam 
Up to the sun; 

"When the hot and burdened day 
EtiSts on its downward way, 
Wlien the moth forgets to play 
And the plodding ant may dream her work is 
done-r- 

Thcn, from the noise of war 
And the din of earth afar, 
Like some forgotten star 
Dropt from tlie sky — 
The sounds of love and fear, 
xUl voices sad and clear. 
Banished to silence drear— 
The wihing thrall of trances sweet I lie. 

Some melancholy gale 
Breathes its mysterious tale. 
Till the rose's lips grow pale 
With her sighs ; 
And o'er my thoughts are cast 
Tints of the vanished past. 
Glories that faded fast, 
Kenewcd to splendor in my dreaming eyes. 

As poised on vibrant wings. 
Where its sweet treasure swings. 
The honey-lover clings 
To the red flowers — 
So, lost in vivid light. 
So, rapt from day and night, 
I linger in dehght, 
Enraptured o'er the vision-freighted hours. 

EosB Teeey. 



iiy:mn to pan. 

Tnorr, whose mighty palace roof doth hang 
From jagged trunks, and overshadowcth 
Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death 
Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefdness ; 
"Who lovest to see the Hamadryads dress 
Their ruflied locks where meeting hazels 

darken ; 
And through whole solemn hours dost sit 

and hearken 
The dreary melody of bedded reeds 
In desolate places, where dank moistm-e 

breeds 
The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth, 
Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth 
Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx — do thou now, 
By thy love's milky brow ! 
By all the trembling mazes that she ran, 
Hear us, groat Pan ! 

O thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles 
Passion their voices coomgly 'mong myrtles. 
What time thou wanderest at eventide 
Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the 

side 
Of thine enmossed realms ! O thou, to whom 
Broad-leaved flg-trees even now foredoom 
Their ripened fruitage ; yellow-girted bees 
Their golden honeycombs; our village leas 
Their fairest blossomed beans and poppied 

coru ; 
The chuckling linnet its five young unborn. 
To sing for thee ; low-creeping strawberries 
Their summer coolness ; pent-up butterflies 
Their freckled wings ; yea, the fresh-budding 

year 
All its comj)letions — be quickly near. 
By every wind that nods the mountain pine, 
forester divine ! 

Thou, to whom every faun and satyr flies 
For willing service ; whether to surprise 
The squatted hare Avhile in half-sleeping fit ; 
Or upward ragged precipices flit 
To save poor lambkius from the eagles maw ; 
Or by mysterious enticement draw 
Bewildered shepherds to their path again ; 
Or to tread breathless round the frothy main, 
And gather up all fancifullest shells 
For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells, 



THE BIRCn-TREE. 



6S 



And, being hidden, laugh at theii- out-peeping ; 
Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping, 
The while they pelt each other on the crown 
With silvery oak-apples, and fir-cones brown! 
By all the echoes that about thee ring, 
Hear us, O satyr king ! 

Hearkener to the loud-clappping shears, 
"While ever and anon to his shorn peers 
A ram goes bleating ! Winder of the hoi*n, 
When snouted wild-boars, routing tender corn. 
Anger our huntsmen! Breather round our 

farms, 
To keep off mildews, and all weather harms ! 
Strange ministrant of uudescribed sounds, 
That come a-swooning over hollow grounds. 
And wither drearily on barren moors ! 
Dread opener of the mysterious doors 
Leading to universal knowledge — see. 
Great son of Dryope, 

The many that are come to pay their vows 
With leaves abont their brows ! 

Be still the unimaginable lodge 
For solitary thinkings— such as dodge 
Conception to the very bourne of heaven. 
Then leave the naked brain ; be still the leaven 
That, spreading in this dull and clodded earth, 
Gives it a touch ethereal — a new birth ; 
Be still a symbol of immensity ; 
A lirmament reflected in a sea ; 
An element filling the space between ; 
An unknown — but no more: we humbly 

screen 
With uplift hands our foreheads, lowly bend- 
in gi 
And, giving out a shout most heaven-rending, 
Conjure thee to receive our humble paean, 
Upon thy Mount Lycean ! 

John Keats. 



TO PAX. 



All ye woods, and trees, and bowers. 
All ye \irtues and ye powers 
That inhabit in t!ie lakes. 
In the pleasant springs or brakes. 
Move your feet 
To our souud, 
Whilst we greet 
All this ground, 
13 



With his honor and his name 
That defends our flocks from blame. 

He is great, and he is just, . 
He is ever good, and must 
Thus be honored. Daffodillies, 
Koses, pinks, and loved lilies. 
Let us fling. 

Whilst we sing, 
Ever holy. 

Ever holy. 
Ever honored, ever young ! 
Thus great Pan is ever sung. 

BeATISIOXT AXD FLETCHEa 



THE BIRCH-TEEE. 

Ripplixct through thy branches goes the sun« 

shine. 
Among thy leaves that palpitate for ever ; 
O-sid in thee a pining Nymph had prisoned, 
The soul once of some tremulous inland river. 
Quivering to tell her woe, but, ah ! dumb, 

dumb for ever ! 

While all the forest, witched with slumber- 
ous moonshine, 
Holds np its loaves in happy, happy silence, 
Waiting the dew, with breath and pulse sus- 
pended, — 
I hear aftir thy whispering, gleaming islands. 
And track thee wakeful still amid the wide- 
hung silence. 

Upon the brink of some wood-nestled lakelet. 
Thy foliage, like the tresses of a Dryad, 
Dripping about thy slim white stem, whose 

shadow 
Slopes quivering down the water's dusky 

quiet, 
Thou shrmk'st as on her bath's edge would 

some startled Dryad. 

Thou art the go-between of rustic lovers; 
Thy white bark has their secrets in its keep- 

Reuben writes here the happy name of Pa- 
tience, 

And thy lithe boughs hang murmuring and 
weeping 



65 POEMS OF NATURE. 


Above her, as she steals the mystery from thy 




keepmg. 


SUMMER WOODS. 


Thou art to me like my beloved maiden, 


Come ye into the summer woods ; 


So frankly coy, so full of trembly confidences ; 


There entereth no annoy ; 


Thy shadow scarce seems sh'ade ; thy patter- 


All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, 


ing leaflets 


And the earth is full of joy. 


Sprinkle their gathered sunshine o'er my 




senses. 


I cannot tell you half the sights 


And Nature gives me all her summer confi- 


Of beauty you may see, 


dences. 


The bursts of golden sunshine. 




And many a shady tree. 


Whether my heart with hope or sorrow trem- 




ble, 


There, lightly swung, .c bowery glades. 


Thou sympathizest still ; wild and unquiet, 


The honey-suckles twine ; 


I fling me down, thy ripple, like a river, 


There blooms the rose-red campion. 


Flows valleyward where calmness is, and 


And the dark-blue columbine. 


by it 




My heart is floated down into the land of 


There grows the four-leaved plant, "true 


quiet. 


love," 


James Eitssell Lowell. 


In some dusk woodland spot ; 




There gi'ows the enchanter's night-shade, 
And the wood forget-me-not. 




SONG OF WOOD-NYMPHS. 






And many a merry bird is there. 


Come here, come here, and dwell 


Unscared by lawless men ; 


In forest deep ! 


The blue-winged jay, the woodpecker, 


Come here, come here, and tell 


And the golden-crested wren. 


Why thou dost weep ! 




Is it for love (sweet paiu !) 


Come down, and ye shall see them all. 


1 That thus thou dar'st complain 


The timid and the bold ; 


Unto our pleasant shades, our summer leaves, 


For their sweet life of pleasantness. 


Where nought else grieves ? 


It is not to be told. 


Come here, come here, and he 


And far within that summer wood, 


By whispering stream ! 


Among the leaves so green, 


Here no one dares to die 


There flows a little gurgling brook, 


I For lovers sweet dream ; 


The brightest e'er was seen. 


j But health all seek, and joy, 




And shun perverse annoy, 


There come the little gentle birds. 


And race along green paths till close of day. 


Without a fear of ill ; 


And laugh — alway ! 


Down to the murmuring water's edge 




And freely drink their fill ! 


Or else, through half the yeai*, 




On rushy floor, 


And dash about and splash about. 


We lie by waters clear, 


The merry little things ; 


While sky-larks pour 


And look askance with bright black eyes, 


Their songs into the sun ! 


And flirt their dripi)ing wings. 


And when bright day is done. 




We hide 'neath bells of flowers or nodding 


I 've seen the freakish squirrel;^ di-op 


corn 


Down from their leafy tree. 


And dream^till morn ! 


The little squirrels with the old,— 


Baery Coknwall. 


Great joy it was to me ! 



THE BELJFRY PIGEON. 



6t 



And down unto the running brook, 

I 'vc seen tliem nimbly go ; 
And tlic briglit water seemed to speak 

A welcome kind and low, 

The nodding plants they bowed their heads 

As if in lieartsome cheer : 
They spake unto these little things, 

" 'T is merry living here ! " 

Oh, how my heart ran o'er with joy ! 

I saw that all was good, 
And how we might glean up delight 

All round us, if we would ! 

And many a wood-mouse dwellcth there. 

Beneath the old wood shade, 
And all day long has work to do, 

j^or is of anght afraid. 

The green shoots grow above their heads. 

And roots so fresh and fine 
Beneath their feet ; nor is there strife 

'Mong them for mine and thine. 

There is enough for every one, 

And they lovingly agree ; 
We might learn a lesson, all of us, 

Beneath the green-wood tree. 

Makt Howitt. 



WILLOW S0:!^&. 

Willow ! in thy breezy moan 

I can hear a deeper tone ; 

Through thy leaves come whispering low 

Faint sweet sounds of long ago — 

Willow, sighing willow ! 

Many a mournful tale of old 
Heart-sick Love to thee hath told. 
Gathering from thy golden bough 
Leaves to cool his burning brow — 

Willow, sighing willow! 

Many a swan-like song to thee 
Ilath been sung, thou gentle tree ; 
Many a lute its last lament 
Do^v^l thy moonlight stream hath sent — 
Willow, sighing willow ! 



Therefore, wave and murmur on, 

Sigh for sweet affections gone. 

And for tuneful voices fled, 

And for Love, whose heart hath bled — 

Ever, willow, willow! 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



THE BELFRY PIGE0:N". 

Ox the cross-beam under the Old South bell 
The nest of a pigeon is builded well. 
In summer and winter that bird is there, 
Out and in with the morning air ; 
I love to see him track the street. 
With his wary eye and active feet ; 
And I often watch him as he springs. 
Circling the steeple with easy wings, 
Till across the dial his shade has passed, 
And the belfry edge is gained at last ; 
'T is a bird I love, with its brooding note, 
And the trembling throb in its mottled.throat ; 
There 's a human look in its swelling brea?t. 
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ; 
And I often stop with the fear I feel — 
He runs so close to the rapid wheel. 

Whatever is rung on that noisy Iv'll — 
Chime of the hour, or funeral knell — 
The dove in the belfry must hear it well. 
Wlien the tongue swings out to the midnight 

moon. 
When the sexton cheerly rings for noon. 
When the clock strikes clear at morning 

light, 
When the child is waked with " nine at 

night," 
When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air, 
Filling the spirit with tones of prayer, — 
Whatever tale in the bell is heard. 
He broods on his folded feet unstirred, 
Or, rising half in his rounded nest, 
He takes the time to smooth his breast. 
Then drops again, with filmed eyes. 
And sleeps as the last vibration dies. 

Sweet bird! I would that I could be 
A hermit in the crowd like thee ! 
With wings to fly to wood and glen. 
Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men ; 
And daily, with unwilling feet, 
I tread, like thee, the crowded street. 
But, unlike me, when day is o'er. 



68 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar ; 
Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, 
Canst smooth the feathers on thy hrcast. 
And drop, forgetful, to thy nest. 

I woidd that, in such wings of gold, 
I could my weary heart upfold ; 
I would I could look down unmoved 
(Unloving as I am unloved). 
And while the world throngs on beneath. 
Smooth down my cares and calmly breathe ; 
And never sad with others' sadness, 
And never glad with others' gladness. 
Listen, unstirred, to knell or chime. 
And, lapped in quiet, bide my time. 

Nathaniel Paekek Willis. 



THE GRASSHOPPER. 

TO MT NOBLE FKIEXD ME. CHAELES COTTON. 
ODE. 

O THOU, that swing'st upon the waving ear 

Of some well-filled oaten beard, 
Drunk every night with a delicious tear 

Dropped thee from heaven, where now 
thou 'rt reared ; 

The joys of air and earth are thine entire. 
That with thy feet and wings dost hop and 

fly; 

And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire 
To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. 

Up with the day, the sun thou welcom'st then ; 

Sport'st in the gilt plats of his beams, 
And all these merry days mak'st merry men, 

Thyself, and melancholy streams. 

But ah ! the sickle ! golden ears are cropt ; 

Ceres and Bacchus bid good-night ; 
Sharp frosty lingers all your flowers have topt. 

And Avhat scythes spared, winds shave off 
quite. 

Poor verdant fool ! and now green ice, thy 
joys 

Large and as lasting as thy perch of grass. 
Bid us lay in 'gainst winter rain, and poise 

Their floods with an o'erflowing glass. 

lliou best of men and friends! we will create 
A genuine summer in each other's breast ; 



And spite of this cold time and frozen fate, 
Thaw us a warm seat to our rest. 

Our sacred hearths shall burn eternally 
As vestal flames ; the north wind, he 

Shall strike his frost-sti'etched wings, dissolve 
and fly 
This iEtna in epitome. 

Dropping December shall come weeping in. 
Bewail th' usurping of his reign ; 

But when in showers of old Greek we begin, 
Shall cry he hath his crown again. 

Night as clear Hesper shall our tapers whii> 
From the light casements where we play, 

And the dark hag from her black mantle strip. 
And stick there everlasting day. 

Thus richer than xmtempted kings are we, 
That asking nothing, nothing need ; 

Though lord of all what seas embrace, yet he 
That wants himself, is poor indeed. 

RicHAED Lovelace. 



THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy insect, what can be 

In happiness compared to thee? 

Fed with nourishment divine. 

The dewy morning's gentle wine ! 

Nature waits upon thee still, 

And thy verdant cup does fill ; 

'T is filled wherever thou dost tread, 

Nature self 's thy Ganymede. 

Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing. 

Happier than the happiest king ! 

All the fields which thou dost see, 

All the plants belong to thee ; 

All the summer hours produce, 

Fertile made with early juice. 

Man for thee does sow and plow, 

Farmer he, and landlord thou ! 

Thou dost innocently enjoy ; 

Nor does thy luxury destroy. 

The shepherd gladly hoareth thee, 

More harmonious than he. 

Thee country hinds with gladness hear, 

Prophet of the ripened year! 

Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire ; 

Phoebus is himself thy sire. 



SUMMER. 



69 



To thee, of all tliiugs upon cartli, 

Life is no longer than thy mirth. 

Happy insect ! happy thou, 

Dost neither age nor winter know ; 

But when thou 'st drunk, and danced, and 

sung 
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among, 
(Voluptuous and wise withal. 
Epicurean animal !) 
Sated with thy summer feast, 
Thou rctir'st to endlest rest. 

Anackeox. (Greek.) 
Translation of Abraham Cowley. 



A SOLILOQUY. 

OCCASIONED BY THE CniKPING OF A 
GEASSnOPPER. 

Happt insect ! ever blest 
"With a more than mortal rest. 
Rosy dews the leaves among, 
Humble joys, and gentle song! 
"Wretched poet ! ever curst 
"With a life of lives the wor!?t>, 
Sad despondence, restless fears, 
Endless jealousies and tears. 

In the burning summer tJiou 
"Warblest on the verdant bough, 
Meditating cheerful play, 
Mndless of the piercing ray ; 
Scorched in Cupid's fervors, I 
Ever weep and ever die. 

Pi-oud to gratify thy will, 
Ready Nature waits thee still ; 
Balmy wines to thee she pours, 
"Weeping through the dewy flowers, 
Rich as those by Hebe given 
To the thirsty sons of heaven. 

Yet alas, wo both agree. 
Miserable thou like me ! 
Each, alike, in youtli rehearses 
Gentle strains and tender verses ; 
Ever wandering far from home. 
Mindless of the days to come 
(Such as aged "Winter brings 
Trembling on his icy wings), 
Both alike at last we die ; 
Thou art starved, and so am I ! 

Walter IIarte. 



OX THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happt songster, perched above, 
On the summit of the grove, 
Whom a dewdrop cheers to sing 
"With the freedom of a king ; 
From thy perch survey the fields, 
Where prolific !N"aturo yields 
Nought that, willingly as she, 
Man surrenders not to thee. 
For hostility or hate 
None thy pleasui*es can create. 
Thee it satisfies to sing- 
Sweetly the return of Spring ; 
Herald of the genial hours. 
Harming neither herbs nor flowers. 
Therefore man thy voice attends 
Gladly — thou and he are friends ; 
Nor thy never-ceasing strains 
Phoebus or the Muse disdains 
As too simple or too long. 
For themselves inspire the song. 
Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying, 
Ever singing, sporting, playing. 
What has nature else to show 
Godlike in its kind as thou? 

Anacreox. (Greek.) 
Translation, of William Cowpee. 



ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND 
CRICKET. 

The poetry of earth is never dead : 
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun 
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will rim 
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown 

mead. 
That is the grasshopper's — he takes the lead 
In summer luxury, — he has never done 
With his delights ; for, when tired out with 

fun, 
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. 
The poetry of earth is ceasing never. 
On a lone winter evening, when the frost 
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there 

shrills 
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, 
And seems, to one in drowsiness half lost. 
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills. 

Jonx Keats. 



70 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



THE GRASSHOPPER AXD CRICKET. 

Gbeen little vaiilter in the sunny grass, 
Catcliing your heart up at the feel of June- 
Sole voice that 's heard amidst the lazy noon 
When even the bees lag at the summoning 

brass ; 
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class 
With those who think the candles come too 

soon, 
Loving the fire, and with your tricksomc tune 
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass ! 

O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong. 
One to the fields, the other to the hearth, 
Both have your sunshine : both, though aaall, 

ai"e strong 
At your clear hearts; and both seem given 

to earth 
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song — 
In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth. 

Leigh Hunt. 



TO THE HUMBLE-BEE. 

BtJELY, dozing humble-bee ! 
Where thou art is clime for me ; 
Let them sail for Porto Rique, 
Far-off heats through seas to seek. — 
I will follow thee alone, 
Thou animated torrid zone ! 
Zig-zag steerer, desert cheerer, 
Let me chase thy waving lines ; 
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, 
Singing over shrubs and vines. 

Insect lover of the sun, 
Joy of thy dominion ! 
Sailor of the atmosphere ; 
Swimmer through the waves of air. 
Voyager of light and noon, 
Epicurean of June ! 
Wait, I prithee, till I come 
Within earshot of thy hum, — 
All without is martyrdom. 

When the south wind, in May days, 
Witli a net of shining haze 
Silvers the horizon wall ; 
And, with softness touching all. 



Tints the human countenance 
W^ith the color of romance ; 
And infusing subtle heats 
Turns the sod to violets, — 
Thou in sunny solitudes, 
Rover of the imderwoods, 
The green silence dost displace 
With thy mellow breezy bass. 

Hot Midsummer's petted crone, 
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone 
TeUs of countless sunny hours, 
Long days, and solid banks of flowers ; 
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound. 
In Indian wildernesses found ; 
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, 
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. 

Aught unsavory or unclean 
Hath my insect never seen ; 
But violets, and bilberry bells, 
Maple sap, and daffodels, 
Grass with green flag half-mast high. 
Succory to match the sky, 
Columbine with horn of honey, 
Scented fern, and agrimony. 
Clover, catchfly, adder's-tonguo, 
And brier-roses, dwelt among : 
All beside was vmknown waste. 
All Avas picture as he passed. 
Wiser far than human seer, 
Yellow-breeched philosopher, 
Seeing only what is fair. 

Sipping only what is sweet, 
Thou dost mock at fixte and care. 

Leave the chaft' and take the wheat. 
When the fierce north-western blast 
Cools sea and laud so far and fast, — 
Thou already slumberest deep ; 
Woe and want thou canst outsleep ; 
Want and woe, which torture us. 
Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 

Ealph Waldo Emekson. 



THE BEE. 

From fruitful beds and flowery borders. 
Parcelled to wasteful ranks and orders, 
Wliere state grasps more than plain trutli needs. 
And wholesome herbs are starved by weeds, 



THE BEE. 



VI 



To tlic wild woods I will be gone, 

And the coarse meals of great Saint John. 

When truth and piety are missed, 

Both in the rulers and the priest; 

AVheu pity is not cold but dead, 

And tlie rich eat the poor like bread ; 

While factious heads, with open coile 

And force, first make, then share the spoile ; 

To Horeb then Elias goes. 

And in the desert grows the rose. 

Haile, chrystal fountaines and fresh shades, 
Where no proud look invades, 
No busie worldling hunts away 
The sad retirer all the day ! 
Haile, happy, harmless solitude ! 
Our sanctuary from the rude 
And scornful world ; the calm recess 
Of faith, and hope, and holiness ! 
Here something still like Eden looks ; 
Honey in woods, juleps in brooks ; 
And flo\Yers, whose rich, unrifled sweets 
With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets, 
When the toils of the day are done. 
And the tired world sets with the sun. 
Here flying winds and flowing wells 
Are the wise, watchful hermit's bells; 
Their busie murmurs all the night 
To praise or prayer do invite ; 
And with an awful sound arrest, 
Aiid piously employ his breast. 

When in the East the dawn doth blush, 

Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush. 

Herbs straight get up; flowers peep and 

spread ; 
Trees v/hisper praise, and bow the head ; 
Birds, from the shades of night released. 
Look round about, then quit the nest. 
And with united gladness sing 
The glory of the morning's King. 
The hermit hears, and with meek voice 
Offers his own up, and their, joyes; 
Then prays that all the world might be 
Blest witli as sweet an unity. 

If sudden storms the day invade, 
They flock about him to the shade. 
Where wisely they expect the end. 
Giving the tempest time to spend ; 



And hard by shelters ou some bough 
Hilarion's servant, the sage crow. 

Oh, purer years of light and grace ! 
Great is the difference, as tlie space, 
'Twixt you and us, who blindly run 
After false fires, and leave the sun. 
Is not fiiir nature of herself 
Much richer than dull paint and pelf? 
And are not streams at the spring head 
More sweet than in carved stone or lead ? 
But fancy and some artist's tools 
Frame a religion for fools. 

The truth, which once was plainly taught, 
With thorns and briars now is fraught. 
Some part is with bold fable spotted. 
Some by strange comments wildly blotted ; 
And discord, old corruption's crest, 
With blood and shame have stained the rest. 
So snow, which in its first descents 
A whiteness like pure heaven presents. 
When touched by man is quickly soiled, 
And after trodden down and spoiled. 

Oh, lead me where I may be free, 
In truth and spirit to serve Thee ! 
AVhere undisturbed I may converse 
With Thy great Self; and there rehearse 
Thy gifts with thanks ; and from Thy store, 
Who art all blessings, beg much more. 
Give me the wisdom of the bee. 
And her unwearied Industrie ! 
That, from the wild gourds of these days, 
I may extract health, and Thy praise. 
Who canst turn darkness into light. 
And in my weakness shew Thy might. 

Suffer me not in any want 
To seek refreshment from a plant 
Thou didst not set ; since all must be 
Plucked up, whose growth is not from The& 
'T is not the garden and the bowers, 
N'or sense and forms, that give to flowers 
Their wholesomeness ; but Thy good will, 
Which truth and pui-eness purchase still. 

Then since corrupt man hath driven hence 
Thy kind and sa\nng influence, 
And balm is no more to be had 
In all the coasts of Gilead ; 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Go witli me to the sliade and cell, 
AYhere Thy best servants once did dwell. 
Thero let me know Thy will, and see 
Exiled religion owned by Thee ; 
For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls, 
And make hiUs blossome like the vales, 
Deckmg their untilled heads with flowers. 
And fresh delights for all sad hours ; 
Till from them, like a laden bee, 
I may fly home, and hive with Thee. 

Henky Vattghan. 



THE FLY. 

occasioned by a fly deintcing out of the 
author's cup. 

Busy, curious, thirsty fly ! 
Drink with me, and drink as I ! 
Freely welcome to my cup, 
Couldst thou sip and sip it up : 
Make the most of life you may ; 
Life is short and wears away ! 

Both alike, both mine and thine. 
Hasten quick to their decline ! 
Thine 's a summer ; mine no more, 
Though repeated to threescore ! 
Threescore summers, when they 're gone, 
"Will appear as short as one ! 

Vincent Boitene. 



THE SPIOE-TEEE. 

The Spice-Tree lives in the garden green ; 
Beside it the foimtain flows ; 
And a fair bird sits the boughs between, 
And sings his melodious woes. 

No greener garden e'er was known 
TVithin the bounds of an earthly king ; 
No lovelier skies have ever shone 
Than those that illumine its constant Sprinc 

That coU-bound stem has branches three ; 
On each a thousand blossoms grow ; 
And, old as aught of time can be. 
The root stands fast in the rocks below. 

In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire 
The fount that builds a silvery dome ; 
And flakes of purple and ruby fire 
Gush out, and sparkle amid the foam. 



The fair white bird of flaming crest. 
And azure wings bedropt with gold, 
Ne'er has he known a pause of rest. 
But sings the lament that he framed of old : 

" Princess bright ! how long the night 
Since thou art sunk in the waters clear ! 
How sadly they flow from the depth below— 
How long must I sing and thou wilt not 
hear ? 

" The waters play, and the flowers are gay, 
And the skies are sunny above ; 
I would that all could fade and fall, 
And I, too, cease to mourn my love. 

" Oh ! many a year, so wakeful and drear, 
I have sorrowed and watched, beloved, for 

thee ! 
But there comes no breath from the chambers 

of death, 
While the lifeless fount gushes under the tree." 

The skies grow dark, and they glare with 

red ; 
The tree shakes oif its spicy bloom ; 
The waves of the fount in a black pool spread ; 
And in thunder sounds the garden's doom. 

Down springs the bird with a long shrill cry, 

Into the sable and angry flood ; 

And the face of the pool, as he falls from 

high. 
Curdles in circling stains of blood. 

But sudden again upswells the fount; 
Higher and higher the waters flow — 
In a glittering diamond arch they mount. 
And round it the colors of morning glow. 

Finer and finer the watery mound 
Softens and melts to a thin-spun veil, 
And tones of music circle around. 
And bear to the stars the fountain's tale. 

And swift the eddying rainbow bcreen 
Falls in dew on the grassy floor; 
Under the Spice-Tree the garden's Queen 
Sits by her lover, who wails no more. 

John Sterling. 



THE PALM. 



THE AR^iB TO THE PALM. 

Next to thee, O fair gazelle, 

O Becldowee girl, beloved so well ; 

Next to the fearless Nedjidee, 

Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee ; 

Next to ye both, I love the Palm, 

With his leaves of beauty, his fruit of balm ; 

Next to ye both, I love the tree 

Whose fluttcriug shadow wraps us three 

With love, and silence, and mystery ! 

Our tribe is many, our poets vie 

With any under the Arab sky ; 

Yet none can sing of the Palm but I. 

The marble minarets that begem 

Caii'o's citadel-diadem 

Are not so light as his slender stem. 

He lifts his leaves in the sunbeam's glance. 
As the iUmelis lift their arms in dance — 

A slumberous motion, a passionate sign. 
That works in the cells of the blood like wine. 

Full of passion and sorrow is he. 
Dreaming where the beloved may be. 

And when the warm south winds arise. 
He breathes his longing in fervid sighs, 

Quickeuing odors, kisses of balm. 

That drop in the lap of his chosen palm. 

The sun may flame, and the sands may stir. 
But the breath of his passion reaches her. 

O Tree of Love, by that love of thine, 
Teach me how I shall soften mine ! 

Give me the secret of the sun, 
Wliereby the wooed is ever won ! 

If I were a king, O stately Tree, 
A likeness, glorious as might be, 
In tlie court of my palace I'd build for thee 

Witli a shaft of silver, burnished bright. 
And leaves of bervl and malachite ; 
14 ' 



With spikes of golden bloom a-blaze, 
And fruits of topaz and chrysoprase. 

And there the poets, in thy praise. 

Should night and morning frame new lays— ^ 

New measures sung to tunes divine ; 
But none, O Palm, should equal mine ! 

Bataru Taylob. 



THE TIGER. 

Tiger ! Tiger ! burning bright. 
In the forest of the night ; 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burned the ardor of thine eyes ? 
On what wings dare he aspire ? 
What the hand dare seize the fii'e ? 

And what shoulder, and what art, 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand forged thy dread feet ? 

What the hammer? what the chain? 
In what furnace was thy brain ? 
What the anvil ! What dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? 

When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did he smile his work to see ? 
Did He who made the lamb make thee ? 

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright. 
In the forest of the night ; 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? 

"William Blake. 



THE LION'S EIDE. 

The lion is the desert's king ; through his 

domain so wide 
Right swiftly and right royally this night ha 

means to ride. 
By the sedgy brink, where the wild herds 

drink, close couches the grim chief; 
The trembling sycamore above whispers with 

every leaf. 



Y-1 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



At evening, on the Table Mount, when ye 

can see no more 
The changeful play of signals gay ; when the 

gloom is speckled o'er 
"With kraal fires ; when the Caftre wends 

home through the lone karroo ; 
"When the boshbok in the thicket sleeps, and 

by the stream the gnu ; 

Then bend your gaze across the waste — what 
see ye ? The girafife, 

Majestic, stalks towards the lagoon, the tur- 
bid lymph to quaff; 

"With outstretched neck and tongue adust, he 
kneels him down to cool 

His hot thirst with a welcome draught from 
the foul and brackish pool. 

A rustling sound — a roar — a bound — the lion 

sits astride 
Upon his giant courser's back. Did ever king 

so ride ? 
Had ever king a steed so rare, caparisons of 

state 
To match the dappled skin whereon that 

rider sits elate ? 

In the muscles of the neck his teeth are 
plunged with ravenous greed ; 

His tawny mane is tossing round the withers 
of the steed. 

Up leaping with a hollow yell of anguish and 
surprise. 

Away, away, in wild dismay, the camel-leop- 
ard flies. 

His feet have wings; see how he springs 

across the moonlit plain ! 
As from their sockets they would burst, his 

glaring eyeballs strain ; 
In thick black streams of purling blood, full 

fast his life is fleeting ; 
Tiie stillness of the desert hears his heart's 

tumultuous beating. 

Like the cloud that, through the wilderness, 

the path of Israel traced — 
Like an airy phantom, dull and wan, a spirit 

of the waste — 



From the sandy sea uprising, as the water- 
spout from ocean, 

A whirling cloud of dust keeps pace with the 
courser's fiery motion. 

Croaking companion of their flight, the vul- 
ture whirs on high ; 

Below, tlie terror of the fold, the panther 
tierce and sly, 

And hyenas foul, round graves that prowl, 
join in the horrid race ; 

By the foot-pi'ints wet with gore and sweat, 
their monarch's course they trace. 

They see him on his living throne, and quake 

with fear, the while 
"With claws of steel he tears piecemeal his 

cushion's painted pile. 
On ! on ! no pause, no rest, giraffe, while life 

and strength remain ! 
The steed by such a rider backed, may madly 
. plunge in vain. 

Reeling upon the desert's verge, he falls, and 

breathes his last ; 
The courser, stained with dust and foam, is 

the rider's fell repast. 
O'er Madagascar, eastward for, a faint flush 

is descried : — 
Thus nightly, o'er his broad domain, the king 

of beasts doth ride. . 

Ferdinand Feeiligkath. (German.) 
Anonymous translation. 



THE LION AND GIRAFFE. 

"WouLDST thou view the lion's den ? 
Search afar from haunts of men — 
"Where the reed-encircled rill 
Oozes from the rocky hill. 
By its verdure far descried 
'Mid the desert brown and wide. 

Close beside the sedgy brim, 
Couchant, lurks the lion grim ; 
"Watching till the close of day 
Brings the death-devoted prey. 
Heedless at the ambushed brink 
The tall giraffe stoops down to drink ; 



THE DESERT. 



CJpou liim straight, the savage springs 

With cruel joy. The desert rings 

^Yith clanging sound of desperate strife — 

The prey is strong, and he strives for life. 

Plunging off with frantic bound 

To shako the tyrant to the ground, 

lie shrieks — he rushes through the waste. 

With glaring eye and headlong haste 

In vain ! — the spoiler on his prize 

Rides proudly — tearing as he flies. 

For life — the "\actiiu's utmost speed 

Is mustered in this hour of need. 

For life — for life — his giant might 

lie strains, and pours his soid in fliglit ; 

And mad with terror, thirst, and pain. 

Spurns with wild hoof the thundering plain. 

'T is vain ; the thirsty sands are drinking 

His streaming blood — his strength is sinking ; 

The victor's fangs are in his veins — 

His flanks are streaked with sanguine stains; 

His panting breast in foam and gore 

Is bathed — he reels — his race is o'er. 

He falls — and, with convidsive throe, 

Resigns his throat to the ravening foe ! 

— And lo ! ere quivering life is fled, 

Tlie vultm-es, wheeling overhead, 

Swoop down, to watch in gaunt array. 

Till the gorged tyrant quits his prey. 

TaoMAS Pbingle. 



AFAR IN THE DESERT. 

Af.ve in the desert I love to ride. 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by ray side,-*' 
When the soitows of life the soul o'ercast, 
And, sick of the present, I cling to the past ; 
When the eye is suftused with regretful tears, 
From the fond recollections of former years ; 
And shadows of things that have long since 

fled 
Flit over the brain, like the ghosts of the 

dead : 
Bright visions of glory that vanished too 

soon; 
Day-dreams, that departed ere manhood's 

noon ; 
Attachments by fate or falsehood reft ; 
Companions of early days lost or left — 
And my native land — whose magical name 
Thrills to the heart like electric flame ; 



The home of my childhood ; the haunts of 

my prime ; 
All the passions and scenes of that rapturous 

time 
When the feelings were young, and the world 

was new, 
Like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to 

view; 
All — all now forsaken — forgotten — foregone ! 
And I — a lone exile remembered of none — 
My high aims abandoned, — ^my good acts 

undone — 
Aweary of all that is under the sun — 
With that sadness of heart which no stranger 

may scan, 
I fly to the desert afar from man. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life. 
With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and 

strife — 
The proud man's frown, and the base man's 

fear — 
The scorner's laugh, and the suflferer's tear — 
And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, 

and folly. 
Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy ; 
When my bosom is full, and my thoughts ai'e 

high. 

And my soul is sick with the bondman> 

sigh — 
Oh ! then there is freedom, and joy, and 

pride. 
Afar in the desert alone to ride ! 
There is rapture to vaidt on the champing 

steed. 
And to bound away with the eagle's speed. 
With the death-fraught firelock in my hand — 
The only law of the Desert Land ! 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
Away — away from the dwellings of men. 
By the wUd deer's haunt, by the buffolo's glen ; 
By valleys remote where the oribi plays. 
Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the harte- 

beest graze. 
And the kudu and eland unhunted recline 
By the skirts of gray forest o'erhung witli 

wild vine ; 



1 



76 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Where the elephant browses at peace in his 

wood, 
And the river-horse gambols unscared in the 

flood, 
And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will 
In the fen where the wild ass is drinking his 

fill. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 

With the silent Bash-boy alone by my side. 

O'er the brown karroo, where the bleating 

cry 
Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively ; 
And the timorous quagga's shrill whistling 

neigh 
Is heard by the fountain at twilight gray ; 
Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane. 
With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain ; 
And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste 
Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste, 
Hieing away to the home of her rest, 
Where she and her mate have scooped their 

nest, 
Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view 
In the pathless depths of the parched karroo. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride. 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
Away — away — in the wilderness vast 
Where the white man's foot hath never 

passed, 
And the quivered Coranna or Bechuan 
Hath rarely crossed with his roving clan : 
A region of emptiness, howling and drear, 
Which man hath abandoned from famine and 

fear ; 
Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone, 
With the twilight bat from the yawning 

stone ; 
Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root, 
Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot ; 
And the bitter-melon, for food and drink, 
Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt-lake's brink ; 
A region of drought, where no river glides, 
Nor rippling brook with osiered sides ; 
Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount, 
Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount, 
Appears, to refresh the aching eye ; 
But the barren earth and the burning sky, 
And the blank horizon, round and round. 
Spread — void of living sight or sound. 



And here, while the night-winds round me 

sigh, 
And tlie stars burn bright in the midnight 

sky, 

As I sit apart by the desert stone, 

Like Elijah at Horeb's cave, alone, 

" A still small voice " comes through the wild 

(Like a father consoling his fretful child), 

Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear, 

Saying — ^Man is distant, but God is near ! 

Thomas Pkixglb, 



THE BLOOD HORSE. 

Gamarka is a dainty steed, 

Strong, black, and of a noble breed, 

Full of fire, and fuU of bone, 

With all his line of fathers known ; 

Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, 

But blown abroad by the pride within ! 

His mane is like a river flowing, 

And his eyes Hke embers glowing 

In the darkness of the night, 

And his pace as swift as light. 

Look — how 'round his straining throat 

Grace and shifting beauty float ; 

Sinewy strength is in his reins. 

And the red blood gallops through his veius- 

Pdchei", rodder, never ran 

Through the boasting heart of man. 

He can trace his lineage higher 

Than the Bourbon dare aspire, — 

Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph, 

Or O'Brien's blood itself! 

He, who hath no peer, was born, 

Here, upon a red March morn ; 

But his famous fathers dead 

Were Arabs all, and Arab bred, 

And the last of that great line 

Trod like one of a race divine ! 

And yet, — he was but friend to one, 

Who fed him at the set of sun. 

By some lone fountain fringed with green ; 

With him, a roving Bedouin, 

He lived (none else would he obey 

Through all the hot Arabian day), — 



SUMMER RAIN 



11 



And died untamed upon the sands 
Where Balkh amidst the desert stands ! 

Bakrt Cornwall. 



INTOOATION TO EAIN IF SUMMER. 

O GEN-TLE, gentle summer rain, 

Let not the silver lily pine, 
The drooping lily pine in vain 

To feel that dewy touch of thine — 
To drink thy freshness once again, 
O gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

In heat the landscape quivering lies ; 

The cattle pant beneath the tree ; 
Through parching air and purple skies 

The earth looks up, in vain, for thee ; 
For thee — for thee, it looks m vain, 
O gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

Come, thou, and brim the meadow streams, 
And soften all the hills with mist, 

O falling dew ! from burning dreams 
By thee shall herb and flower be kissed ; 

And Earth shall bless thee yet again, 

gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

W. C. Bbnkett. 



RAIN ON THE ROOF. 

"When the humid shadows hover 

Over all the starry spheres. 
And the melancholy darkness 

Gently weeps in rainy tears, 
'T is a joy to press the pillow 

Of a cottage chamber bed, 
And to listen to the patter 

Of the soft rain overhead. 

Every tinkle on the shingles 

Has an echo in the heart ; 
And a thousand di-eamy fancies 

Into busy being start, 
^Vnd a thousand recollections 

Weave their bright rays mto woof, 
As I listen to the patter 

Of the rain upon tlie roof. 



Now in fancy comes my mother 

As she used to, years agone. 
To survey her darling dreamers. 

Ere she left them till the dawn. 
Oh ! I see her bending o'er me. 

As I list to this refrain 
Which is played upon the shingles 

By the patter of the rain. 

Then my little seraph sister, 

With her wings and waving hair. 
And her bright-eyed cherub brother — 

A serene, angelic pair — 
Glide around my wakeful pillow 

With their praise or mild reproof, 
As I listen to the murmur 

Of the soft rain on the roof. 

And another comes to thrill me 

With her eyes, delicious blue, 
And forget I, gazing on her. 

That her heart was all untrue I 
I remember but to love her 

With a rapture kin to pain. 
And my heart's quick pulses vibrate 

To the patter of the rain. 

There is nought in Art's bravuras 

That can work with such a spell 
In the spirit's pure, deep fountains, 

Whence the holy passions well. 
As that melody of Nature, 

That subdued, subduing strain 
Which is played upon the shingles 

By the patter of the rain. 



THE CLOUD. 



L 



r."' .Chtr;f^ 



I BEiXG fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 

From the seas and the streams ; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noon-day dreams. 
From my wings are sliaken the dews that 
waken 

The sweet birds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail. 

And whiten the green plains i:nder ; 



18 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And then again I dissolve it in rain ; 
And laugh as I pass in thimder. 

1 sift the snow on the moimtains below, 

And theii- great pines groan aghast ; 
And all the night, 't is my pillow white, 

While I sleep in the arras of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers 

Lightning, my pilot, sits ; 
In a cavern under, is fettered the thunder ; 

It struggles and howls at fits. 
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion. 

This pilot is guiding rae, 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea ; 
Over the riUs, and the crags, and the hills. 

Over the lakes and the plains. 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or 
stream. 

The spirit he loves, remains ; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue 
smile. 

Whilst he is dissolnng in rains. 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes. 

And his burning plumes outspread. 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 

When the morning star shines dead. 
As, on the jag of a mountain crag 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
An eagle, alit, one moment may sit 

In the light of its golden wings ; 
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit 
sea beneath, 

Its ardors of rest and of love. 
And the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depth of heaven above. 
With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest. 

As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden with white fire laden, 

Whom mortals call the moon, 
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor 

By the midnight breezes strewn ; 
And, wherever the beat of her unseen feet. 

Which only the angels hear, 
May have broken tlie woof of my tent's thin 
roof, 

The stars peep behind her and peer ; 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee. 



Like a swarm of golden bees. 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 

Till the calm river, lakes, and seas, 
Like strips of the sky fallen through rae on 
high. 

Are each paved witli the moon and these. 

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone. 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; 
The volcanoes are dim. and the stars reel and 
swim. 

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 

Over a torrent sea. 
Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof, 

The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch, through which I march. 

With hurricane, fire, and snow, 
When the powers of the air are chained to 
my chair. 

Is the million-colored bow ; 
The sphere-fire above, its soft colors wove. 

While tlie moist earth was laughing be- 
low. 

I am the daughter of the earth and water. 

And the nurseling of the sky ; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and 
shores ; 
I change, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when, with never a stain. 

The pavilion of heaven is bare. 
And the winds and sunbeams, with their con- 
vex gleams, 
Build up the blue dome of air — 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph. 

And out of the caverns of rain. 
Like a child from tlie womb, like a ghost from 
the tomb, 
I rise and upbuild it again. 

Percy Btsshe Shelley. 



DKINKING. 

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, 
And drinks, and gapes for drink again ; 
The plants suck in the earth, and are, 
With constant drinking, fresh and fair ; 



SUMMER WINDS. 



19 



The sea itself (which one would think 
Should have but little need to drink), 
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, 
So filled that they o'erflow the cup. 
The busy sun (and one would guess 
By 's drunken fiery face no less), 
Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done, 
The moon and stars drink up the sun : 
They drink and dance by their own light ; 
They diink and revel all the night. 
Nothing in nature 's sober found, 
But an eternal "health " goes round. 
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high — 
Fill all the glasses there ; for why 
Should every creature drink but I ; 
Why, man of morals, tell me why ? 

Anacreon, (Greek.) 
Translation of Abraham Cowley. 



THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE 
BURN. 

The midges dance aboon the burn ; 

The dews begin to fti' ; 
The pairtricks down the rushy holm 

Set up their e'ening ca'. 
Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang 

Rings through the briery shaw. 
While flitting gay, the swallows play 

Around the castle wa'. 

Beneath the golden gloamia' sky 

The mavis mends her lay ; 
The red-breast pours his sweetest strains, 

To charm the ling'ring day; 
WhUe weary yeldrins seem to wail 

Their little nestlings torn. 
The merry wren, frae den to den, 

Gaes jinking through the thorn. 

The roses fauld their silken leaves, 

The foxglove shuts its bell ; 
The honey-suckle and the birk 

Spread fragrance through the dell. 
Let others crowd the giddy court 

Of mirth and revelry. 
The simple joys that Nature yields 

Are dearer far to me. 

Robert Tannahill. 



SONG OF THE SUMMER WINDS. 

Up the dale and down the bourne. 
O'er the meadow swift we fly ; 

Now Ave sing, and now we mourn. 
Now we whistle, now we sigh. 

By the grassy-fringed river. 

Through the murmuring reeds we sweep 
Mid the lily-leaves we quiver. 

To their A'cry hearts we creep. 

Now the maiden rose is blushing 

At the frolic things we say, 
While aside her cheek we 're rushing, 

Like some truant bees at play. 

Through the blooming groves we rustle, 

Kissing every bud we pass, — 
As we did it in the bustle, 

Scarcely knowing how it was, 

Down the glen, across the mountain, 
O'er the yellow heath we roam. 

Whirling round about the fountain. 
Till its little breakers foam. 

Bending down the weeping willows. 
While our vesper hymn we sigh ; 

Then unto our rosy pillows 
On our weary wings we hie. 

There of idlenesses dreaming. 
Scarce ft'om waking we refrain, 

Moments long as ages deeming 
TiU we're at our play again. 

Geokgb Darlit 



TIIE WANDERING WIND. 

TiiE Wind, the wandering Wind 

Of the golden summer eves — 
Whence is the thrilUng magic 

Of its tones amongst the leaves ? 
Oh ! is it from the waters. 

Or, from the long tall grass? 
Or is it from the hollow rocks 

Through which its breathings pass ; 



80 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Or is it from the voices 

Of all in one combined, 
That it wins the tone of mastery? 

The Wind, the wandering Wind ! 
No, no ! the strange, sweet accents 

That with it come and go. 
They are not from the osiers, 

Nor the fir-trees whispering low. 

They are not of the waters, 

Nor of the caverncd hill ; 
'T is the human love within lis 

That gives them power to thrill : 
They touch the links of memory 

Around our spu'its twined, 
And we start, and weep, and tremble. 

To the Wind, the wandering Wind ? 
Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



ODE TO THE WEST WIND. 



O AviLD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's 

being. 
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves 

dead 
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter 

fleeing — 
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red. 
Pestilence-stricken multitudes ! thou, 
Who chariotest to their dark, wintry bed 
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and 

low. 
Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds, like flocks, to feed in 

air) 
With living hues and odors, plain and hill : 

Wild spirit, which art moving everywhere ; 
Destroyer and preserver ; hear, O hear ! 



Thou, on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's 

commotion. 
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are 

shed, 



Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and 
ocean. 

Angels of rain and lightning : there are spread 

On blue surface of thine airy surge. 

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 

Of some fierce Moenad, even from the dim 

verge 
Of the horizon to the zenith's height, 
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou 

dirge 

Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
Will be the dome of a vast sephulchre 
Vaulted with all thy congregated might 

Of vapors ; from whose solid atmosphere 
Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst; O 
hear ! - 

in. 

Thou who didst waken from his summer 

dreams 
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, 
Beside a pumice isle in Baite's bay. 
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers. 
Quivering within the waves' intenser day. 

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 
So sweet the sense faints picturing them ! 

Thou 
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 

Cleave themselves into chasms, while, far be- 
low, 

The sea-blooms, and the oozy woods which 
wear 

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear. 
And tremble and despoil themselves: O 
hear ! 



If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; — 
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; — 
A wave to pant beneath thy power and share 
The impidse of thy strength — only less free 
Than thou, uncontrollable ! If even 
I were as in my boyhood, and could be 



THE SEA. 



81 



The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven 
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 
Scarce seemed a vision, I woukl ne'er have 
striven 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 
Oh ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 

A heavy weight of hours has chained and 

bowed 
One too like thee — tameless, and swift, and 

proud. 

V. 

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is. 
"What if my leaves are ftiUiug like its own ! 
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 

"Will take from both adeep autumnal tone — 
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit 

fierce. 
My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! 

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe, 
Like withered leaves, to quicken a new birth ; 
And, by the incantation of this verse. 

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
Be through my lips to unawakened earth 

Tlie trumpet of a prophecy ! wind. 
If winter comes, can spring be far behind ? 
Pekct Btsshb Shellet. 



THE SEA. 

The sea ! the sea ! the open sea ! 

The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! 

"Without a mark, without a bound. 

It runneth the earth's wide regions round ; 

It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; 

Or like a cradled creature lies. 

I 'm on the sea! I 'm on the sea! 
I am where I would ever be ; 
"With the blue above, and the blue below. 
And silence wheresoe'er I go ; 
If a storm should come and awake the deep. 
What matter? I shall ride and sleep. 
15 



I love, oh how I love to ride 
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide. 
When every mad wave drowns the moon, 
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune. 
And tells how goeth the Avorld below, 
And why the sou'west blasts do blow. 

I never was on the dull, tame shore, 
But I loved the great sea more and more. 
And backward flew to her biUowy breast, 
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest ; 
And a mother she was, and is, to me ; 
For I was born on the open sea ! 

The waves were white, and red the morn. 
In the noisy hour when I was born ; 
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, 
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold ; 
And never was heard such an outcry wild 
As welcomed to life the ocean-child ! 

I 've lived since then, in calm and strife, 
Full fifty summers, a sailor's life. 
With Avealth to spend, and power to range. 
But never have sought nor sighed for change ; 
And Death, whenever he comes to me. 
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea ! 

Baekt Cornwall. 



THE STORMY PETREL. 

A THOUSAXD miles from land are we. 
Tossing about on the stoi'my sea — 
From billow to bounding biUow cast, 
Like fleecy snow on the stoz'my blast. 
The sails are scattered abroad like weeds ; 
The strong masts shake like quivering reeds ; 
The mighty cables and iron chains ; 
The hull, which all earthly strength disdains, — 
They strain and they crack ; and hearts like 

stone 
Their natural, hard, proud strength disown. 

Up and down ! — up and down ! 

From the base of the wave to the billow's 

crown. 
And amidst the flashing and feathery foam, 
The stormy petrel finds a home 



S2 



POEMS or NATURE, 



A home, if such a place may be 

For her who lives on the wide, wide sea. 

On the craggy ice, in the frozen air. 

And only seeketh her rocky lair 

To Avarm her young, and to teach them to 

spring 
At once o'er the waves on their stormy 

wung ! 

O'er the deep ! — o'er the deep ! 

Where the whale, and the shark, and the 

sword-fish sleep — 
Outflying the blast and the driving rain, 
The petrel telleth her tale — in vain ; 
For the mariner curseth the warning bird 
Which briiigeth him news of the storm un- 
heard ! 
Ah ! thus does the prophet of good or ill 
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still; 
Yet he ne'er falters — so, petrel, spring 
Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy 
wing! 

Bakry Coenwall. 



A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. 

A WET sheet and a flowing sea — 

A Avind that follows fast. 
And fills the white and rustling sail, 

And bends the gallant mast^ 
And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 

While, like the eagle free. 
Away the good ship flies, and leaves 

Old England on the lee. 

Oh for a soft and gentle wind ! 

I heard a fair one cry ; 
But give to me the snoring breeze. 

And white waves heaving high — 
And white Avaves heaving high, my boys, 

The good ship tight and free ; 
The Avorld of Avaters is our home, 

And merry men are Ave. 

There 's tempest in yon horned moon, 
And lightning in yon cloud ; 

And hark the music, mariners ! 
The wind is piping loud — 



The wind is piping loud, my boys, 
The lightning flashing free ; 

While the hollow oak our palace is. 
Our heritage the sea. 

Allan CcrNNi>iGHAM. 



TWILIGHT. 

The tAvilight is sad and cloudy ; 

The wind blows Avild and free ; 
And like the Avings of sea-birds 

Flash the Avhite caps of the sea. 

But in the fisherman's cottage 
There shines a ruddier light. 

And a little face at the windoAV 
Peers out into the night; 

Close, close it is pressed to the Avindow, 

As if those childish eyes 
Were looking into the darkness. 

To see some form arise. 

And a Avoman's Avaving shadoAV 

Is passing to and fro, 
NoAV rising to the ceiling, 

NoAV boAving and bending low. 

What tale do the roaring ocean 

And the night-Avind, bleak and Avild, 

As they beat at the crazy casement, 
Tell to that little child? 

And Avhy do the roaring ocean, 

And the night-Avind, Avild and bleak. 

As they beat at the heart of the mother, 
Drive the color from her cheek ? 

IIenut AVadswokth Longfellow. 



STOEM SONG. 

The clouds are scudding across the moon ; 

A misty light is on the sea ; 
The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, 

And the foam is flying free. 



THE OCEAN. 88 


Brothefti, a night of terror and gloom 


For man soon breathes his last, 


Si)eaks iu the cloud and gathering roar ; 


And all his hope is past, 


Tliaak God, lie has given us broad sea-room, 


And all his music mute. 


A thousand miles from shore. 




Down with the hatches on those who sleep ! 


Then, when the gale is sighing, 
And when the leaves are dying, 


The wild and whistling deck have we ; 


And when the song is o'er, 


Good watch, my brothers, to-night weUl keep, 


Oh, let us think of those 


While the tempest is on the sea ! 


Whose lives are lost in woes. 




Whose cup of^rief runs o'er. 


Though the rigging shriek in his terrible grip. 


Henrt NKKr.3. 


And the naked spars be snapped away, 
Lashed to the helm, we'll drive our ship 




■ • 


In the teeth of the whelming spray ! 






SEAWEED. 


Hark ! how the surges o'erleap the deck ! 

Hark ! how the pitiless tempest raves ! 
Ah, daylight will look upon many a wreck 

Drifting over the desert waves. 


WiiEJf descends on the Atlantic 

The gigantic 
Storm-wind of the equinox, 
Landward in his wrath he scourges 


Vet, courage, brothers ! we trust the wave. 
With God above us, our guiding chart. 


The toiling surges. 
Laden with seaweed from the rocks ; 


So, whether to harbor or ocean-grave, 




Be it still with a cheery heart ! 


From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges 


Bayakd Tayloe. 


Of sunken ledges 




In some far-off, bright Azore ; 


^ 


From Bahama, and the dashing, 
Silver-flashing 






Surges of San Salvador ; 


MOAIS", MOAJf, YE DYING GALES. 




Moan-, moan, ye dying gales ! 
The saddest of your tales 

Is not so sad as life ; 
Nor have you e'er began 
A theme so wild as man, 

Or with such sorrow rife. 


From the tumbling surf that buries 

The Orkneyan skerries, 
Answering the hoarse Hebrides ; 
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting 

Spars, uplifting 
On the desolate, rainy seas ; — 


Fall, fall, thou Avithered leaf! 
Autumn sears not like grief, 

iSTor kills such lovely flowers ; 
More tei'riblc the storm. 
More mournful the deform, 

When dark misfortune lowers. 


Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless main ; 
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches 

Of sandy beaches. 
All have found repose again. 


Hush ! hush ! tliou trembling lyre, 


So when storms of wild emotion 


Silence, ye vocal choir, 


Strike the ocean 


And tiiou, melliiluous lute, 


Of the poet's soul, ere long, 



84 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



From each cave aud rocky fastness 

In its vastness, 
Floats some fragment of a song : 

From the far-off isles enchanted 

Heaven has planted 
"With the golden fruit of truth ; 
From the flashing surf, whose vision 

Gleams elysian 
In the tropic clirrte of Youth ; 

From the strong will, and the endeavor 

That for ever 
Wrestles with the tides of fate ; 
From the wreck of hopes far-scattered, 

Tempest-shattered, 
Floating waste and desolate ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless heart ; 
Till at length in hooks recorded. 

They, like hoarded 
Household words, no more depart. 

Henry Wadswoktii Longfellow. 



GULF-AVEED. 

A. WEARY weed, tossed to and fro, 

Drearily drenched in the ocean hrine, 
Soaring high and sinking Ioav, 

Lashed along without will of mine ; 
Sport of the spoora of the surging sea ; 

Flung on the foam, afar and anear, 
Mark my manifold mystery, — 

Growth and grace in their place appear. 

I hear round herries, gray and red. 

Rootless and rover though I be ; 
My spangled leaves, when nicely spread, 

xVrboresce as a trunkless tree ; 
Corals curious coat me o'er, 

White and hard in apt array ; 
'Mid the wild waves' rude uproar. 

Gracefully grow I, night and day. 



Hearts there are on the sounding shore. 

Something whispers soft to me, 
Eestless and roaming for evermore, 

Like this weary weed of the sea ; 
Bear they yet on each beating breast 

The eternal type of the wondrous whol^ 
Growth unfolding amidst unrest, 

Grace informing with silent soul. 

CoENELItJS GeOEGE FENNER. 



THE SEA— IlSr CALM. 

Look what immortal floods the sunset pours 
Upon us — Mark ! how still (as though 11 

dreams 
Bound) the once wild and terrible ocear. 

seems ! 
How silent are the winds ! no billow roars ; 
But all is tra,nquil as Elysian shores. 
The silver margin which aye runneth round 
The moon-enchanted sea, hath here no sound : 
Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors : 
What ! is the giant of the ocean dead, 
Whose strength was all unmatched beneath 

the sun ? 
No : he reposes ! Now his toils are done ; 
More quiet than the babbling brooks is he. 
So mightiest powers by deepest calms are fed, 
And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be! 
Barry Coknwai-l. 



THE LITTLE BEACH-BIRD. 



TnoTT little bird, thou dweller by the sea, 
Why takest thou its melancholy voice, 
And with that boding cry 
'er the waves dost thou fly ? 
Oh ! rather, bird, with me 
Through the fair land rejoice ! 



Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale 
As driven by a beating storm at sea ; 
Thy cry is weak and scared. 
As if thy mates had shared 
The doom of us. Thy wail — 
What does it bring to me ? 



HAMPTON BEACH. 



85 



Thou call'st along tlie sand, and haunt 'st the 
surge, 
Jvcstless and sad ; as if, in strange accord 
With the motion and the roar 
Of waves that drive to shore, 
One spirit did ye urge — 
The Mystery — tlie Word. 



Of thousands thou botli sepulchre and pall. 
Old Ocean, art ! A requiem o 'er the dead 
From out thy gloomy cells 
A tale of mourning tells — 
Tells of man's woe and fall, 
Ilis sinless glory fled. 



Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight 
Where the complaining sea shall sadness 
bring 
Thy spirit never more. 
Come, quit with me the shore 
For gladness, and the light 
Where birds of summer sing. 

EiCHAED IIenut Dana. 



THE CORAL GROVE. 

Deep in the wave is a coral grove, 

Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove ; 

Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of 

blue 
That never are wet with fulling dew. 
But in bright and changeful beauty shine 
Far down in the green and glassy brine. 
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, 
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow; 
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 
Their boughs, where the tides and billows 

flow ; 
The Avater is calm and still below. 
For the winds and waves arc absent there. 
And the sands are bright as the stars that 

glow 
In tlie motionless fields of upper air. 



There, with its waving blade of green. 

The sea-flag streams through the silent water. 

And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

To blush, llKe a banner bathed in slaughter. 

There, with a light and easy motion, 

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep 

sea; 
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 
Are bending like corn on the upland lea. 
And life, in rare and beautiful forms, 
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone. 
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms 
Has made the top of the wave his own. 
And when the ship from his fury flies. 
Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 
When the wind-god frowns in the murky 

skies. 
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 
Then, far below, in the peaceful sea. 
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove 
Where the Avaters murmur tranquilly. 
Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 
James Gates Pepxival. 



HAMPTOIJ" BEACH. 

The sunlight glitters keen and briglit. 

Where, miles away, 
Lies stretching to my dazzled sight 
A luminous belt, a misty light. 
Beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of 
sandy gray. 

The tremulous shadow of the sea ! 

Against its ground 
Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree. 
Still as a picture, clear and free. 
With varying outline mark the coast foi 
miles around. 

On — on — we tread with loose-flung rein 

Our seaward way. 
Through dark-green fields and blossoming 

grain. 
Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane. 
And bends above our heads the flowering- 
locust spray. 



86 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ila ! like a kind hand on my brow 

Comes this fresh breeze, 
Cooling its dull and feverish glow, 
While through my being seems to flow 
Tlie breath of a new life — the healing of the 



Xow rest we, wliere this grassy mound 

His feet hath set 
In the great waters, which have bound 
His granite ankles greenly round 
^Yith long and tangled moss, and weeds with 
cool spray wet. 

Good-bye to pain and care ! I take 

Mine ease to-day ; 
Here, where these sunny waters break, 
And ripples this keen breeze, I shake 
All burdens from the heart, all weary 
tliouglits away. 

I draw a freer breath ; I seem 

Like all I see — 
Waves in the sun — the white- winged gleam 
Of sea-birds in the slanting beam — 
And far-oif sails which flit before the south 
wind free. 

So when Time's veil shall fall asunder, 

The soul may know 
No fearful change, nor sudden v/onder, 
Nor sink the weight of mystery under. 
But with the upward rise, and with the vast- 
ness grow. 

And all we shrink from now may seem 

No new revealing — 
Familiar as our childhood's stream, 
Or pleasant memory of a dream, 
riie loved and cherished Past upon the new 
life stealing. 



Serene and mild, the untried light 

May have its dawning ; 
And, as in Sunnner's northern light 
The evening and the dawn unite. 
The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's 
new morninn:. 



I sit alone ; in foam and spray 

Wave after wave 
Breaks ou the rocks which, stern and gray. 
Beneath like fallen Titans lay. 
Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossj 
cleft and cave. 

What heed I of the dusty land 

And noisy town ? 
I see the mighty deep expand 
From its white line of glimmering sand 
To whore the blue of heaven on bluer waves 
shuts down ! 

In listless quietude of mind, 

I yield to all 
The change of cloud and wave and wind ; 
And passive on the flood reclined, 
I wander with the waves, and with them rise 
and fall. 

But look, tlioii dreamer ! — wave and shore 

In shadow lie ; 
The night-wind warns me back once more 
To where my native hill-tops o'er ' 
Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset 
sky! 

So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell ! 

I bear with me 
No token stone nor glittering shell. 
But long and oft shall Memory tell 
Of this brief, thouglitful, hour of musing bj 
the sea. 

John Greenleaf Wiiittier. 



TO SENECA LAKE. 

Ox thy fair bosom, silver lake, 

The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, 

And round his breast the ripples break, 
As down he bears before the gale. 

On thy fair bosom, waveless stream, 
The dipping paddle echoes far, 

And flashes in the moonlight gleam, 
And bright reflects the polar star. 



Y A R E W. 



87 



The waves along tliy pebbly shore, 
As blows the north-Avind, heave their foam 

And curl around the dashing oar, 
As lute the boatman hies him home. 

How sweet, at set of sun, to view 
Tliy golden mirror spreading wide, 

And see the mist of mantling blue 

Float round the distant mountain's side. 

At midnight hour, as shines the moon, 
A sheet of silver spreads below, 

And swift she cuts, at highest noon. 
Light clouds, like Avreaths of purest snow. 

On thy fair bosom, silver lake. 
Oh! I could ever sweep the oar, — 

When early birds at morning wake. 
And evening tells us toil is o'er. 

James Gatks P?:rcival. 



YARROAY UXVISITED.* 

FnoM Stirling castle we had seen 
The mazy Forth unravelled ; 
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, 
And with the Tweed had travelled; 
x\nd when we came to Clovenford, 
Then said my "winsome marrow:" 
" Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, 
And see the braes of Yarrow." 

" Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town. 

Who have been buying, selling. 

Go back to Yarrow ; 'tis their own — 

Each maiden to her dwelling ! 

On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, 

Hares couch, and rabbits burrow ! 

But wo will downward with the Tweed, 

Xor turn aside to Yarrow. 

"There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, 
Both lying right before us; 
And Di-yborough, where with chiming Tweed 
The lintwhites sing in chorus; 

♦See the vaiions poems, the scene of which is laid iipoH 
the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, tho exquisite 
salhul of Hamilton, on page 4:W of this volume, begin- 
ilng: 

" Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Brule, 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow ! " 



There 's pleasant Teviot-dale, a land 
Made blithe with plough and harrow : 
Why throw away a needful day 
To go in search of Yarrow ? 

"What's Yarrow but a river bare, 

That glides the dark hills under ? 

There are a thousand such elsewhere, 

As worthy of your wonder." 

Strange words they seemed, of slight and 

scorn ; 
^fy true-love sighed for sorrow, 
And looked me in the face, to think 
I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 

" Oh, green," said I, " are Yarrow's holms, 
And sweet is Yarrow flowing! 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 
But we will leave it growing. 
O'er hilly path, and open strath, 
We '11 wander Scotland thorough ; 
But, though so near, we will not turn 
Into the dale of Yarrow. 

"Let beeves and homebred kine })artake 
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; 
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake 
Float double, swan and shadow ! 
We will not see them; will not go 
To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; 
Enough, if in our hearts we know 
There 's such a place as Yarrow. 

"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! 
It must, or we shall rue it : 
We have a vision of our own ; 
Ah ! why should we undo it ? 
The treasured dreams of times long past. 
We '11 keep them, winsome Marrow ! 
For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 
'Twill be another Yarrow! 

"If care with freezing years should come, 
And wandering seem but folly, — 
Should we be loth to stir from home. 
And yet be melancholy, — 
Should life be dull, and spirits low, 
'T will soothe us in our sorrow. 
That earth has something yet to show — 
The bonny holms of Yarrow ! " 

William WoRDSWor.Tn 



88 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



YARKOW VISITED. 

And is this— Yarrow ?— This the stream 

Of which my fancy cherished, 

So faithfully, a waking dream? 

An image that hath perished ! 

that some minstrel's harp were near, 

To utter notes of gladness. 

And chase this silence from the air. 

That fills my heart with sadness ! 

Yet why ?— a silvery current flows 
AVith uncontrolled meanderings ; 
Nor have these eyes hy greener hills 
Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 
And, through her depths, Saint Mary's lake 
Is visibly delighted ; 
For not a feature of those hills 
Is in the mirror slighted. 

A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale, 

Save where that pearly whiteness 

Is round the rising sun diffused — 

A tender, hazy brightness ; 

Mild dawn of promise ! that excludes 

All profitless dejection ; 

Though not uuAvilling here to admit 

A pensive recollection. 

Where was it that the fiimous Flower 
Of Yarrow Yale lay bleeding ? 
His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 
On which the herd is feeding ; 
And haply from this crystal pool, 
Now peaceful as the morning, 
The water-wraith ascended thrice, 
And gave his doleful warning. 

Delicious is the lay that sings 

The haunts of happy lovers — 

The path that leads them to the grove, 

The leafy grove that covers ; 

And pity sanctifies the verse 

That paints, by strength of sorrow, 

The unconquerable strength of love : 

Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 

But thou, that didst appear so fair 
To fond imagination, 
Dost rival in the light of day 
Her delicate creation. 



Meek loveliness is round thee spread — 
A softness still and holy, 
The grace of forest charms decayed, 
And pastoral melancholy. 

That region left, the vale unfolds 

Rich groves of lofty stature, 

With Yarrow winding through the pornp 

Of cultivated nature ; 

And, rising from those lofty groves, 

Behold a ruin hoary ! 

The shattered front of Newark's towers, 

Renowned in border story. 

Fair scenes for cliildhood's opening bloom 

For sportive youth to stray in ; 

For manhood to enjoy his strength. 

And age to wear away in ! 

Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, 

A covert for protection 

Of tender thoughts, that nestle there, — 

The brood of chaste afi:ection. 

How sweet, on this autunmal day. 
The wild-wood fruits to gather, 
And on my true-love's forehead plant 
A crest of blooming heather! 
And what if I inwreathed my own ! 
'T were no offence to reason ; 
The sober hills thus deck their brows 
To meet the wintry season. 

I see, — but not by s'ght alone. 

Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 

A ray of fancy still survives, — 

Her sunshine plays upon thee ! 

Thy ever-youthful waters keep 

A course of lively pleasure ; 

And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, 

Accordant to the measure. 

The vapors linger round the heights ; 
They melt, and soon must vanish ; 
One hour is theirs, nor more is mine : 
Sad thought, which I would banish 
But that I know, where'er I go, 
Thy genuine image, Yarrow, 
Will dwell with me, to heighten joy, 
And cheer my mind in sorrow. 

William Wordsworth 



Y A R R W. 



S9 



YARROW REVISITED. 



The following stanzas are a memorial of a clay passed 
with Sir AValter Scottanil other friends, visiting the banks 
of the Tarrow under Lis guidance — immediately before 
his departure from Abbotsford, for Naples. 



The gallant youth, who may have gained, 

Or seeks, a "winsome marrow," 
Was hut an infixnt in the lap 

When first I looked on Yarrow ; 
Once more, by Newark's castle-gate — 

Long left without a warder, 
I stood, looked, listened, and with thee. 

Great Minstrel of the Border ! 



Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day. 

Their dignity installing 
In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves 

Were on the bough, or falliag ; 
But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed, 

The forest to embolden ; 
Reddened the fiery hues, and shot 

Transparence through the golden. 



For busy thoughts, the stream flowed on 

In foamy agitation ; 
And slept in many a crystal pool 

For quiet contemplation. 
No public and no private care 

The freeborn mind enthralling. 
We made a day of happy hours, 

Our happy days recalling. 



Brisk Youth appeared, the morn of youth, 

With freaks of graceful folly, — 
Life's temperate noon, her sober eve, 

Iler night not melancholy ; 
Past, present, future, all appeared 

In harmony united, 
Like guests that meet, and some from far, 

By cordial love invited. 



And if, as Yarrow, through the woods 
And down the meadow ranging. 

Did meet us with unaltered face, 
Tliough we wore changed and changini 
16 



If, then, some natural shadows spread 

Our inward prospect over, 
The soul's deep valley was not slow 

Its brightness to recover. 

Eternal blessings on the Muse, 

And her divine employment ! 
The blameless Muse, who trains her sons 

For hope and calm enjoyment ; 
Albeit sickness, lingering yet, 

Has o'er their pillow brooded ; 
And care waylays their steps, — a sprite 

Not easily eluded. 

For thee, O Scott ! compelled to change 

Green Eildon Hill and Cheviot 
For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes ; 

And leave thy Tweed and'Teviot 
For mild Sorrento's breezy waves; 

May classic fancy, linking 
With native fancy her fresh aid. 

Preserve thy heart from sinking ! 

0, while they minister to thee, 

Each vying with the other, 
May health return to mellow age. 

With strength, her venturous brother ; 
And Tiber, and each brook and rill 

Renowned in song and story. 
With unimagined beauty shine. 

Nor lose one ray of glory ! 

For thou, upon a hundred streams, 

By tales of love and sorrow, 
Of faithful love, undaunted truth, 

Hast shed the power of Yarrow ; 
And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, 

Wherever they invite thee. 
At parent Nature's grateful call 

With gladness must requite thee. 

A gracious welcome shall be thine — 
. Such looks of love and honor 
As thy own Yarrow gave to me 

When first T gazed upon her — 
Beheld what I had feared to see, 

UnAvilling to surrender 
Dreams treasured up from early days 

The holy and the tender. 



90 POEMS OF NATUKE. 


And wJiat, for this frail world, were all 


And lovers now, with many a kiss, 


That mortals do or suffer, 


Their long farewells are sighing. 


Did no responsive harp, no pen. 


Why is Earth so gayly drest ? 


Memorial tribute offer ? 


This pomp, that Autumn beareth, 


Yea, what were mighty ISTature's self — 


A funeral seems, where every guest 


Iler features, could they win us. 


A bridal garment weareth. 


Unhelped by the poetic voice 




That hourly speaks within us ? 


Each one of us, perchance, may here, 




On some blue morn hereafter. 


Nor deem that localized romance 


Eeturn to -view the gaudy year, 


Plays false with our affections : 


But not with boyish laughter. 


Unsanctifies our tears, — ^made sport 


We shall then be wrinkled men, 


For fanciful dejections. 


Our brows with silver laden. 


All, no! the visions of the past 


And thou this glen mayst seek again, 


Sustain the heart in feeling 


But nevermore a maiden ! 


Life as she is, — our changeful life. 


« 


With friends and kindred dealing. 


Nature perhaps foresees that Spring 




Will touch her teeming bosom. 


Bear witness, ye, whose thoughts that day 


And that a few brief months will bring 


la Yarrow's groves were centred ; 


The bird, the bee, the blossom ; 


"Who through the silent portal arch 


Ah ! these forests do not know — 


Of mouldering Newark entered ; 


Or would less brightly wither — 


And clomb the winding stair that once 


The virgin that adorns them so 


Too timidly was mounted 


Will never more come hither ! 


By the "last Minstrel" (not the last!). 


Thomas William Paksons. 


Ere he his tale recounted ! 
Flow on for ever. Yarrow stream ! 


• 




Fulfil thy pensive duty. 




Well pleased that future bards should chant 


ROBIN REDBREAST, 


For simple hearts thy beauty ; 


GooD-BTE, good-bye to Summer ! 


To dream-light dear while yet unseen, 


For Summer 's nearly done ; 


Dear to the common sunshine. 


The garden smiling faintly. 


And dearer still, as now I feel, 


Cool breezes in the sun ; 


To memory's shadowy moonshine ! 


Our thrushes now are silent, 


WlLLIAJI WOEDSWOKTH. 


Our swallows flown away, — 




But Robin 's here in coat of brown, 
And scarlet breast-knot gay. 




A SONG FOR SEPTEMBFE. 


•Robin, robin redbreast. 




Robin dear ! 


September strews the woodland o'er 


Robin sings so sweetly 


With many a brilliant color ; 


In the falling of the year. 


The world is brighter than before — 




Why should our hearts be duller ? 


Bright yellow, red, and orange. 


Sorrow and the scarlet leaf. 


The leaves come down in hosts ; 


Sad thoughts and sunny weather ! 


The trees are Indian princes. 


Ah me ! this glory and this grief 


But soon they '11 turn to ghosts ; 


Agree not well together. 


The'leathery pears and apples 




Hang russet on the bough ; 


This is the parting season — this 


It 's autumn, autumn, autumn late. 


The time when friends arc flying ; 


'T will soon be winter now. 



AUTUMN. 



91 



Eobiu, robin redbreast, 

O Eobiu dear ! 
And wbat will tbis poor robin do ? 

For pinching days are near. 

The fire-side for the cricket, 

The wheat-stack for the mouse, 
"When trembling night-winds whistle 

And moan all round the house. 
The frosty ways like iron, 

The branches plumed with snow, — 
Alas ! in winter dead and dark, 

Where can poor Eobin go ? 
Eobin, robin redbreast, 

O Eobin dear ! 
And a crumb of bread for Eobin, 

His little breast to cheer. 

William Allingham. 



riDELITY. 

A BAEKixG sound the shepherd hears, 
A cry as of a dog or fox ; 
He halts, — and searches with his eyes 
Among the scattered rocks ; 
And now at distance can discern 
A stirring in a brake of fern ; 
And instantly a dog is seen, 
Glancing through that covert green. 

The dog is not of mountain breed ; 

Its motions, too, are wild and shy — 

With something, as the shepherd thinks, 

Unusual in its cry ; 

Xor is there any one in sight 

All round, "in hollow or on height ; 

Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear. 

What is the creature doing here ? 

It was a cove, a huge recess, 

That keeps, till June, December's snow ; 

A lofty precipice in front, 

A silent tarn below ! 

Far in the bosom of Ilelvellyn, 

Eemote from public road or dwelling, 

Pathway, or cultivated land, — 

From trace of human foot or hand. 

There sometimes doth a leaping fish 
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer ; 
The crags repeat the raven's croak 
In symphony austere ; 



Thither the rainbow comes, .the cloud, 
And mists that spread the flying shroud ; 
And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast, 
That, if it could, would hurry past ; 
But that enormous barrier holds it fast. 

ISTot free from boding thoughts, awhile 
The shepherd stood ; then makes his way 
O'er rocks and stones, following the dog 
As quickly as he may ; 
Nor far had gone before he found 
A human skeleton on the ground. 
The appalled discoverer with a sigh 
Looks round, to learn the history. 

From those aljrupt and perilous rocks 

The man had flillen, that place of fear ! 

At length upon the shepherd's mind 

It breaks, and all is clear. 

He instantly recalled the name, 

And who he was, and whence he came ; 

Eemembered, too, the very day 

On which the traveller passed this way. 

But hear a wonder, for whose sake 

This lamentable tale I tell ! 

A lasting monument of words 

This wonder merits well. 

The dog, which stiU was hovering nigh, 

Eepeating the same timid cry, 

This dog had been through three months' 

space 
A dweller in that savage place. 

Yes, proof was plain that, since the day 
When this ill-fated traveller died, 
The dog had watched about the spot, 
Or by his master's side. 
How nourished here through such long tim6 
He knows who gave that love sublime. 
And gave that strength of feeling, great 
Above all human estimate ! 

AYlLLIAM WOKDSWOEIU. 



TO MEADOWS. 

Ye have been fresh and green ; 

Ye have been filled with fiowers; 
And ye the walks have been 

Where maids have spent their hours ; 



92 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ye have belield where they 

With wicker arks did come, 
To kiss and bear away 

The richer cowsHps home ; 

You 've heard them sweetly sing, 

And seen them in a ronnd ; 
Each virgin, Mke the Spring, 

With honeysuckles crowned. 

But now we see none here 
Whose silvery feet did tread. 

And with dishevelled hair 
Adorned this smoother mead. 

Like unthrifts, having spent 
Your stock, and needy grown. 

You 're left here to lament 
Your poor estates alone. 

Egbert IIereick. 



THE HUSBANDMAI^. 

Earth, of man the bounteous mother, 
Feeds him still with corn and wine ; 

He who best would aid a brother. 
Shares with h\m these gifts divine. 

Many a power within her bosom, 
Noiseless, hidden, works beneath ; 

Hence are seed, and leaf, and blossom. 
Golden ear and clustered wreath. 

These to swell with strength and beauty 

Is the royal task of man ; 
Man 's a king ; his throne is duty, 

Shice his work on earth began. 

Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage — 
These, like man, are fruits of earth ; 

Stamped in, clay, a heavenly mintage, 
All from dust receive their birth. 

Barn and mill, and wine-vat's treasures. 
Earthly goods for earthly lives — 

These are Nature's ancient pleasures ; 
These her child from her derives. 

What the dream, but vain rebelling, 
If from earth we sought to flee? 

'T is our stored and ample dwelling ; 
'T is from it the skies we see. 



Wind and frost, and hour and season, 
Land and water, sun and shade — 

Work with these, as bids tliy reason, 
For they work thy toil to aid. 

Sow thy seed, and reap in gladness ! 

Man himself is all a seed ; 
Hope and hardship, joy and sadness — 

Slow the plant to ripeness lead. 

John Stekling, 



TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 

Tnou blossom, bright with autumn dew, 
And colored with the heaven's own blue, 
That openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night ; 

Thou comest not when violets lean 
O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
Or columbines, in purple dressed. 
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. 

Thou waitest late, and com'st alone. 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged Year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean wall. 

I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart. 

William Cullex Bryant. 



CORNFIELDS. 

When on the breath of autumn breeze^ 
From pastures dry and brown. 

Goes floating like an idle thought 
The fair white thistle-down. 

Oh then what joy to walk at will 

Upon the golden harvest hill ! 

What joy in dreamy ease to lie 

Amid a field new shorn. 
And see all round on sun-lit slopes 

The piled-up stacks of corn ; 



AUTUMN. 



93 



And send the fancy wandering o'er 
All pleasant liarvest-tields of yore. 

I feel tlic day— I see the field, 
The quivering of the leaves, 
And good old Jacob and his house 

Binding the yellow sheaves ; 
And at this very hour I seem 
To be with Joseph in his dream. 

I see the fields of Bethlehem, 

And reapers many a one, 
Bending unto their sickles' stroke— 

And Boaz looking on ; 
And Ruth, the Moabite so fair. 
Among the gleaners stooping there. 

Again I see a little child, 
His mother's sole delight, — 

God's linng gift of love unto 
The kind good Shunammite ; 

To mortal pangs I see him yield. 

And the lad bear him from the field. 

The sun-bathed quiet of the hills. 

The fields of Gahlee, 
That eighteen hundred years ago 

"Were fall of corn, I see ; 
And the dear Saviour takes Ilis way 
'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath day. 

Oh, golden fields of bending corn. 

How beautiful they seem ! 
The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, 

To me are like a dream. 
Tlie sunshine and the very air 
Seem of old time, and take me there. 

Mauy Howitt. 



AUTUM}^ FLOWERS. 

Those few pale Autumn flowers, 

How beautiful they are ! 
Than all that went before. 
Than all the Summer store. 
How lovelier lar ! 

And«tvhy?— They are the last! 

The last! the last! the last! 
Oh ! by that little word 
How many tlnoughts are stirred 

That whisi)er of the past ! 



Pale flowers! pale perishing flowers! 

Ye 're types of precious things ; 
Types of those bitter moments, 
That flit, like life's enjoyments, 

On rapid, rapid wings : 

Last hours with parting dear ones 
(That Time the fastest spends). 

Last tears in silence shed, 

Last words half uttered, 
Last looks of dying friends. 

Who but would fain corapreas 

A life into a day, — 
The last day spent with oue 
Who, ere the morrow's sun. 

Must leave us, and for aye ? 

i^recious, precious moments! 

Pale flowers ! ye 're types of those ; 
The saddest, sweetest, dearest. 
Because, like those, the nearest 

To an eternal close. 

Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers ! 
I woo your gentle breath — 

1 leave the Summer rose 
For younger, blither brows ; 

Tell me of change and death ! 

Caroline Bowles Southet. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest 
of the year, 

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and 
meadows brown and sere. 

Heaped in the hoUows of the grove, the au- 
tumn leaves lie dead ; 

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the 
rabbit's tread. 

The robin and the wren are flown, and from 
the shrubs the jay, 

And from the wood-top calls the crow through 
all the gloomy day. 

Where 'are the flowers, the fair young flow- 
ers that lately sprang and stood 

In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous 
sisterhood ? 

Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle 
race of flowers 



94 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Are lying in their lowly beds, "witli the fair 

and good of ours. 
The rain is falling where they lie; but the 

cold November rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely 

ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they per- 
ished long ago, 

And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid 
the summer glow ; 

But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster 
in the wood, 

And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in 
autumn beauty stood. 

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, 
as falls the plague on men, 

And the brightness of their smile was gone, 
from upland, glade, and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as 

still such days -^ill come. 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their 

winter home ; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, 

though all the trees are still. 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters 

of the rill. 
The south wind searches for the flowers 

whose fragrance late he bore, 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by 

the stream no raore. 

And then I think of one who in her youthful 

beauty died. 
The fair meek blossom that grew up and 

faded by my side. 
In the cold moist earth we laid her, Avhen the 

forests cast the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have 

a life, so brief; 
Yet not unmeet it was that one like that 

young friend of ours. 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with 

the flowers. William Cullen Bkyant. 



'T IS THE LAST EOSE OF SUMMER. 

'Tis the last rose of Summer 

Left blooming alone ; 
All her lovely companions 

Are faded and gone ; 



No flower of her kindred. 

No rosebud is nigh. 
To reflect back her blushes, 

Or give sigh for sigh ! 

I '11 not leave thee, thou lone one, 

To pine on the stem ; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go, sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed 
"Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may I follow. 

When friendships decay. 
And from Love's shining circle 

The gems drop away ! 
When true hearts lie withered, 

And fond ones are flown, 
Oh ! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone ? 

Thomas Moore. 



THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES. 

At, this is freedom I — these pure skies 

Were never stained with village smoke ; 
The fragrant wind, that through them flies, 

Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke, 
Hei'C, with my rifle and my steed. 

And her who left the world for me, 
I plant me where the red deer feed 

In the green desert— and am free. 

For here the fair savannas know 

No barriers in the bloomy grass; 
Wherever breeze of heaven may blow, 

Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass. 
In pastures, measureless as aii\ 

The bison is my noble game ; 
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear 

The branches, falls before ray aim. 

Mine are the river-fowl that scream 

From the long stripe of Avaving sedge ; 
The bear that marks my weapon's gleam 

Hides vainly in the forest's edge; '' 
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay ; 

The brinded catamount, that lies 
High in the boughs to watch his prey, 

Even in the act of springing dies. 



THE HUNTER'S SONG. 



i)i 



Witli what free growth the ohn and plane 

FHng their huge arms across my way— 
tiray, old, and cumbered with a train 

Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray ! 
Free stray the lucid streams, and find 

No taint in these fresh lawns and shades ; 
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind 

Where never scythe has swept the glades. 

Alone the fire, when frost- winds sere 

The heavy herbage of the ground, 
Gathers his annual harvest here — 

With roaring like the battle's sound, 
And hurrying flames that sweep the plain, 

And smoke-streams gushing up the sky. 
I meet the flames with flames again. 

And at my door they cower and die. 

Here, from dim woods, the aged Past 

Speaks solemnly ; and I behold 
The boundless Future in the vast 

And lonely river, seaward rolled. 
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew ? 

Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass. 
And trains the bordering vines whose blue 

Bright clusters tempt me as I pass ! 

Broad are these streams — my steed obeys, 

Plunges, and bears me through the tide : 
Wide are these woods— I thread the maze 

Of giant stems, nor ask a guide. 
I hunt till day's last glimmer dies 

O'er woody vale and grassy height ; 
And kind the voice and glad the eyes 

That welcome my return at night. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the 

deer; 
Chasing the Avild deer, and following the roe. 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the 

North, 
The birth-place of valor, the country of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I vove, 
The hills of the Highlands foi- ever I love. 



Farewell to the mountaius high covered with 

snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys 

below ; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging 

woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring 

floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here. 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the 

deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 

KoBEKT Brr.NS. 



THE HUNTER'S SONG. 

Rise ! Sleep no more ! 'T is a noble inorn. 
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn. 
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten 

hound. 
Under the steaming, steaming ground. 
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by, 
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky I 
Our horses are ready and steady. — So, ho I 
I'm gone, like a dart from the Tartar's bow. 
HarTc^ JiarTc! — Who calletli tlie maiden Morn 
From Tier sleep in tlie icoods and the stuhMe 

corn ? 

The horn, — the horn! 
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter s horn. 

Now, through the copse where the fox is 

found. 
And over the stream at a mighty bound, 
And over the high lands, and over the low, 
O'er furrows, o'er meadows, the hunters ^^o ! 
Away ! — as a hawk flies fall at his i)reT, 
So flieth the hunter, away, — away ! 
From the burst at the cover till set of sun, 
When the red fox dies, and — the day is done I 
HarTc, harh ! — What sound on the icind is 

lorne ? 
''I' is the conquering voice of the Imnter^s horn : 

Tlie horn, — the horn! 
The merry, hold voice of the hunter's horn. 



1 



96 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Sound ! Sound the horn ! To the hunter good 
"What's' the gully deep or the roaring flood? 
Right over he hounds, as the wild stag bounds, 
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds. 
Oh, what delight can a mortal lack. 
When he once is firm on his horse's back, 
"With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong, 
And the blast of the horn for his morning 

song? 
liar I; hark! — Now, home! and dream till 

morn 
Of the hold, sweet sound of the hunterh horn! 

Tlie horn, — the horn ! 
Oh, tJie sound of all sounds is the hunter''s horn! 
Bakkt Cornwall. 



TO AUTUMN. 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun! 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
With fruit the vines that round the thatch- 
eaves run — 
To bend with apples the mossed cpttage trees, 
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core — 
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel 
shells 
"With a sweet kernel — to set budding, more 
And still more, later flowers for the bees. 
Until they think warm days will never cease. 
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their 
clammy cells. 

"Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? 

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor. 

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; 
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep. 
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while 
thy hook 
Spares the next swath and all its twined 
flowers; 
And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep 
Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 
Or by a cider-press, with patient look, 
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by 
hours. 



"Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where 

are they ? 

Think not of them — thou hast thy music 

too : 

"While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; 

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats moui-n 

Among the river sallows, borne aloft 

Or sinking, as the light wind lives or dies ; 

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly 

boui'n ; 

Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble 

soft 

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft, 

And gathering swallows twitter in the 

skies. 

JouN Keats. 



AUTUMN"— A DIEGE. 

The warm sun is failing ; the bleak wind is 

wailing; 
The bare boughs are sighing; the pale flowers 
are dying ; 

And the Year 
On the earth, her death-bed, in shroud of 
'leaves dead. 

Is lying. 
Come, months, come away, 
From November to May ; 
In your saddest array 
Follow the bier 
Of the dead, cold Year, 
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. 

The chill rain is falling ; the nipt worm is 

crawling ; 
The rivers are swelling ; the thunder is knell- 
ing 

For the Year ; 
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards 
each gone 

To his dwelling ; 
Come, months, come away ; 
Put on white, black, and gray ; 
Let your light sisters play — 
Ye, follow the bier 
Of the dead, cold Year, 
And make Irer grave green Avith tear on tear. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



A U T U 51 N . 


91 


AUTUMN. 


AUTUMN'S SIGHING. 




TuE Autumn is old ; 


Autumn 's sighing, 




The sere leaves are flying ; 


Moaning, dying ; 




lie bath gathered up gold, 


- Clouds are flying 




And now he is dying : 


On like steeds ; 




Old age, begin sighing ! 


While their shadows 
O'er the meadows 
Walk like Avidows . 




The vintage is ripe ; 
The harvest* is heaping; 






Decked in weeds. 




But some that have sowed 


Red leaves trailing. 




Have no riches for reaping : — 


Fall unfailing, 




Poor wretch, fall a-weeping ! 


Dropping, sailing, 
From the wood, 




The year 's in the wane ; 


That, unpliant. 




There is nothing adorning ; 


Stands defiant, 




The night has no eve, 


Like a giant 




And the day has no morning ; 


Dropping blood. 




Cold Avinter gives warning. 


Winds are swelling 




The rivers run chill ; 


Round our dwelling, 




The red sun is sinking; 


All day telling 




And I am grown old. 


Us their woe ; 




And life is fast shrinking ; 


And at vesper 




Here's enow for sad thinking! 


' Frosts grow crisper, 




TnosiAS Hood. 


As they whisper 
Of the snow. 

From tli' unseen land 






THE LATTER RAIN. 


Frozen inland, 

Down from Greenland 




TnE latter rain, — it falls in anxious haste 


Winter glides. 




Upon the sun-dried fields and branches bare, 


Shedding lightness 




Loosening with searching drops the rigid 


Like the brightness 




waste 


When moon-whiteness 




As if it would each root's lost strength repair ; 


Fills the tides. 




But not a blade grows green as in the Spring ; 






No swelling twig puts forth its thickening 


Now bright Pleasure's 




loaves ; 


Sparkling measures 




The robins only mid the harvests sing. 


With rare treasures 




Pecking the grain that scatters from the 


Overflow ! 




sheaves ; 


With this gladness 




The rain falls still,— the fruit all ripened 


Comes what sadness ! 




drops, 


Oh, what madness ! 




It pierces chestnut-burr and walnut-shell ; 


Oh, what woe ! 




The furrowed fields disclose the yellow crops ; 






Each bursting pod of talents used can tell; 


Even merit 




And all that once received the early rain 


May inherit 




Declare to man it was not sent in vain. 


Some bare garret, 




,_ Jones Vert. 


Or the ground ; 




17 







98 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Or, a worse ill, 
Beg a morsel 
At some door sill, 
Lilve a hound ! 

Storms are trailing ; 
"Winds are wailing, 
Howling, railing 

At each door. 
'Midst this trailing. 
Howling, railing, 
List the wailing 

Of the poor ! 

Thomas Buchanan Eead. 



THE IVY GEEEK 

Oi[ ! a dainty plant is the Ivy green, 

That creepeth o 'er ruins old ! 
Of right choice food are his meals I ween, 

In his cell so lone and cold. 
The walls must be crumbled, the stones de- 
cayed, 
To pleasure his dainty whim ; 
And the mouldering dust that years have 
made 
Is a merry meal for him. 

Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no 
wings, 
And a staunch old heart has he ! 
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings 

To his friend, the huge oak tree ! 
And slyly he traileth along the ground, 

And his leaves he gently waves. 
And he joyously twines and hugs ai'ound 
The rich mould of dead men's graves. 
Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

Whole ages have fled, and their works de- 
cayed, 

And nations scattered been ; 
But the stout old Ivy shall never fade 

From its hale and hearty green. 



The brave old plant in its lonely days 

Shall fatten upon the past ; 
For the stateliest building man can raise 
Is the Ivy's food at last. 

Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

Charles Dickens, 



NOVEMBER. 

The mellow year is hasting to its close ; 
The little birds have almost sung their last, 
Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast — 
That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows ; 
The patient beauty of the scentless rose, 
Oft with the morn's hoar crystal (quaintly 

glassed. 
Hangs, a pale mourner for the summer past, 
And makes a little summer where it grows. 
In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day 
Tlie dusky waters shudder as they shine ; 
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way 
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define ; 
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array, 
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy twinQ. 
Haktley Coleridge. 



GRONGAR HILL. 

Silent nymph, with curious eye ! 
"Who, the purple evening, lie 
On the mountain's lonely van. 
Beyond the noise of busy man — 
Painting fair the form of things, 
While the yellow linnet sings, 
Or the tuneful nightingale 
Charms the forest with her tale — 
Come, with all thy various hues. 
Come, and aid thy sister Muse. 
Now, while Phoebus, riding high. 
Gives lustre to the land and sky, 
Grongar Hill invites my song — 
Draw the landscape bright and strong ; 
Grongar, in whose mossy cells 
Sweetly musing Quiet dwells ; 
Grongar, in whose silent shade, 
For the modest Muses made, 



GKONGAR HILL. 



99 



So oft I have, the evening still, 

At the fountain of a rill, 

Sat upon a flowery bed, 

"With my hand beneath my head, 

AVhile strayed my eyes o 'er Towy's flood. 

Over mead and over wood. 

From house to house, from hill to hill, 

Till Contemplation had her fill. 

About his checkered sides I wind, 
And leave his brooks and meads behind, 
And groves and grottoes where I lay. 
And vistas shooting beams of day. 
Wide and wider spreads the vale. 
As circles on a smooth canal. 
The mountains round, unhappy fate ! 
Sooner or later, of all height, 
Withdraw their summits from the skies. 
And lessen as the others rise. 
Still the prospect wider spreads, 
Adds a thousand woods and meads; 
Still it widens, widens still. 
And sinks the newly-risen hill. 

Now I gain the mountain's brow ; 
What a landscape lies below ! 
Xo clouds, no vapors intervene ; 
But the gay, the open scene 
Does the face of Nature show 
In all the hues of heaven's bow ! 
And, swelling to embrace the light. 
Spreads around beneath the sight. 

Old castles on the cliffs arise. 
Proudly towering in the skies ; 
Rushing from the woods, the spires 
Seem from hence ascending fires ; 
Half his beams Apollo sheds 
On the yellow mountain-heads 
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks. 
And glitters on the broken rocks. 

Below me trees unnumbered rise, 
Beautiful in various dyes : 
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue. 
The yellow beech, the sable yew. 
The slender fir that taper grows. 
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs ; 
And beyond, the purple grove, 
flaunt of Phyllis, queen of love ! 
Gaudy as the opening dawn. 
Lies a long and level lawn. 
On which a dark hill, steep and high, 
Holds and charms the wandering eye ; 
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood: 



His sides are clothed with waving Avood ; 
And ancient towers crown his brow. 
That cast an awful look below ; 
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps. 
And with her arms from falling keeps ; 
So both, a safety from the wind 
In mutual dependence find. 
'T is now the raven's bleak abode ; 
'T is now th' apartment of the toad ; 
And there the fox securely feeds ; 
And there the poisonous adder breeds, 
Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds ; 
While, ever and anon, there fall 
Huge heaps of hoary, mouldered wall. 
Yet Time has seen — that lifts the low 
And level lays the lofty brow — 
Has seen tliis broken pile complete, 
Big with the vanity of state. 
But transient is the smile of Fate I 
A little rule, a little sway, 
A sunbeam in a winter's day, 
Is all the proud and mighty have 
Between the cradle and the grave. 

And see the rivers, how they run 
Through woods and meads, in shade and sue 
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow - 
Wave succeeding wave, they go 
A various journey to the deep. 
Like human life to endless sleep ! 
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought 
To instruct our wandering thought; 
Thus she dresses green and gay 
To disperse our cares away. 

Ever charming, ever new. 
When will the landscape tire the view ! 
The fountain's fall, the river's flow ; 
The woody valleys, warm and low ; 
The windy summit, wild and high. 
Roughly rushing on the sky ; 
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, 
The naked rock, the shady bower; 
The town and village, dome and fiirm— 
Each gives each a double charm. 
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. 

See on the mountain's southern side, 
Where the prospect opens wide. 
Where the evening gilds the tide, 
How close and small the hedges lie ; 
What streaks of meadow cross the eye I 
A step, methinks, may pass the stream. 
So little distant dangers seem ; 



100 



rOEMS or NATURE. 



So we mistake the Future's face, 
Eyed through Hope's deluding glass ; 
As von summits, soft and fair. 
Clad in colors of the air, 
Which to those who journey near. 
Barren, brown, and rough appear ; 
Still we tread the same coarse way — 
Tlie present 's still a cloudy day. 

Oh may I with myself agree. 
And never covet what I see ; 
Content me with an humble shade. 
My passions tamed, my wishes laid ; 
For while our wishes wildly roll, 
We banish quiet from the soul. 
'T is thus the busy beat the air. 
And misers gather wealth and care. 

Now, even now, my joys run high. 
As on the mountain turf I lie ; 
While the wanton Zephyr sings. 
And in the vale perfumes his wings ; 
While the waters murmur deep ; 
Wliile the shepherd charms his sheep ; 
AVhile the birds unbounded fly, 
And with music fill the sky, 
bTow, even now, my joys run high. 

Be full, ye courts ; be great who will ; 
Search for Peace with all your skill ; 
Open wide the lofty door, 
Seek her on the marble floor. 
In vain you search ; she is not here ! 
In vain you search the domes of Care ! 
Grass and flowers Quiet treads. 
On the meads and mountain-heads. 
Along with Pleasure — close allied, 
Ever by each other's side ; 
And often, by the murmuring rill. 
Hears the thrush, while all is still 
Within the groves of Grongar Hill. 

John Dyer. 



FOLDING THE FLOCKS. 

SnEPHEEDS all, and maidens fair. 
Fold your flocks up ; for the air 
'Gins to thicken, and the sun 
Already his great course hath run. 
See the dew-drops, how they kiss 
Every little flower that is ; 



Hanging on tlieir velvet heads. 

Like a string of crystid beads. 

See the heavy clouds low falling 

And bright Hesperus down calling 

The dead night from under ground ; 

At whose rising, mists unsound. 

Damps and vapors, fly apace. 

And hover o 'er the smiling face 

Of these pastures ; where they come, 

Striking dead both bud and bloom. 

Therefore from such danger lock 

Every one his loved flock ; 

And let your dogs lie loose without, 

Lest the wolf come as a scout 

From the mountain, and ere day, 

Bear a lamb or kid away ; 

Or the crafty, thievish fox. 

Break upon your simple flocks. 

To secure yourself from these. 

Be not too secure in ease ; 

So shall you good shepherds prove. 

And deserve your master's love. 

NoAV, good night ! may sweetest slumber: 

And soft silence fall in numbers 

On your eyelids. So farewell : 

Thus I end my evening knelL 

Beattmost and Fletcheb 



BUGLE SONG. 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story ; 
The long light shakes across the lakesi, 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow ! set the wild echoes fly- 
ing ; 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes — dying, dying, 
dying I 

Oh hark, oh hear! how thin and clear. 

And thinner, clearer, further going ! 
sweet and far, from cliff and scar, 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! 
Blow ! let us hear the purple glens reply- 
ing ;. 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes — dying, dying, 
dvinff ! 



EVENING. 



101 



O love, tliey die in yon rich sky ; 

They faint on hill or field or river: 

Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 

And grow for ever and for ever. 

Blow, hugle, blow ! set the wild echoes flying, 

And answer, echoes, answer — dying, dying, 

dying ! 

Alfked Tessyson. 



THE EVENING WIND. 

Spieit that breathest through my lattice ! thou 
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day! 
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my 
brow ; 
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play. 
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, 
Roughening their crests, and scattering 
high their spray, 
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the 
sea! 

Nor I alone — a thousand bosoms round 
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ; 

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ; 

And languishing to hear tliy welcome sound. 
Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the 
sight. 

Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth — 

God's blessing breathed upon the fainting 
earth ! 

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest ; 
Curl the still waters, bright with stars ; and 
rouse 
The wide, old wood from his majestic rest. 

Summoning, from the innumerable boughs, 
The strange deep harmonies that haunt his 
breast. 
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly 
bows 
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, 
And where the overshadowing branches sweep 
the gras?. 



Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly swa\ 
The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone ; 

That they who near the churchyard willows 
stray. 
And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, 

May think of gentle souls that passed away, 
Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, 

Sent forth from heaven among the sons of 
men. 

And gone into the boundless heaven again. 

The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child 
asleep. 

And dry the moistened curls that overspread 
His- temples, while his breathing grows 
more deep ; 

And they who stand about the sick man's bed 
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep. 

And softly part his curtains to allow 

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 

Go — but the circle of eternal change. 

Which is the life of Nature, shall restore, . 
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty 
range, 
Thee to thy birth-place of the deep onco 
more. 
Sweet odors in, the sea air, sweet and strange. 
Shall tell tlie home-sick mariner of the 
shore ; 
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 

William Cullen- Bryant. 



EVENING. 

Sweet after showers, ambrosial air. 
That rollest from the gorgeous gloom 
Of evening over brake and bloom 

And meadow, slowly breathing bare 

The round of space, and rapt below, 
Through all the dewy-tasselled wood, 
And shadowing down the horned flood 

In ripple:^ — fan my brows and blow 



102 



POEMS OF NATURE, 



The fever from my cheek, and sigh 
The full new life that feeds thy breath 
Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, 

111 brethren, let the fancy fly 

Frt;ni belt to belt of crimson seas, 
On leagues of odor streaming far. 
To where, in yonder orient star, 

A hundred spirits whisper "Peace! " 

Alfred Tennyson. 



ODE TO EVENING. 

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest 
ear. 
Like thy own brawling springs, 
Thy springs, and dying gales — 

Nymph reserved, Avhile now the bright- 
haired Sun 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts. 

With brede ethereal wove, 

O'erhang his wavy bed. 

Now air is hushed, save where the weak- 
eyed bat 
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern 
Aving; 
Or where the beetle winds 
His small but sullen horn, 

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path. 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum ; 
Now teach me, maid composed, 
To breathe some softened strain. 

Whose numbers, stealing through thy dark- 
ening vale, 
M ay not unseemly with its stillness suit ; 

As, musing slow, I hail 

Thy genial, loved return! 

For when thy folding star arising shows 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 

The fragrant Hours, and elves 

Who slept in buds the day. 



And many a nymph who wreathes her brow: 

with sedge. 
And sheds the freshening dew; and, lovcliei 
still. 
The pensive i)leasures sweet. 
Prepare thy shadowy car. 

Then let me rove some wild and heatln 

scene ; 
Or find some ruin, 'midst its dreary dells. 

Whose walls more awful nod 

By thy religious gleams. 

Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, 
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 
That, from the mountain's side, 
Yiews wilds, and swelling floods, 

And hamlets brown, and dim discovered 

spires ; 
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er 
all 
Thy dewy fingers draw 
The gradual dusky veil. 

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft 

he wont, 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! 

While Summer loves to sport 

Beneath thy lingering light ; 

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 

Aff'rights thy shrinking train, 

And rudely rends thy robes ; 



smiling 



So long, regardful of thy quiet rule. 
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, 
Peace, 
Thy gentlest influence own. 
And love thy favorite name ! 

"William Collins. 



TO THE EVENING STAR. ' 

Stab that bringest home the bee, 
And sett'st the weary laborer free ! 
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou, 

That send'st it from above. 
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow 

Are sweei as hers we love. 



EVENING. 



103 



Come to the luxuriant skies, 
Whilst the landscape's odors rise, 
Whilst, far off", lowing herds are heard. 

And songs when toil is done, 
From cottages whose smoke unstirred 

Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews, 
Parted lovers on thee muse ; 
Their remembrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art. 
Too delicious to he riven, 

By absence, from the heart. 

Thomas Campbell. 



EVENING IN THE ALPS. 

Come, golden Evening ! in the west 

Enthrone the storm-dispelling sun. 
And let the triple rainbow rest 

O'er all the mountain-tops. 'Tis done ;- 
The tempest ceases ; bold and bright, 

Tlie rainbow shoots from hill to hill : 
Down sinks the sun ; on presses night ;— 

Mont Blanc is lovely still ! 

There take thy stand, my spirit ; — spread 

The world of shadows at thy feet ; 
And mark how calmly, overhead, 

The stars, like saints in glory, meet. 
While hid in solitude sublime, 

Methinks I muse on Nature's tomb, 
And hear the passing foot of Time 

Step through the silent gloom. 

All in a moment, crash on crash. 

From precipice to precipice 
An avalanche's ruins dash 

Down to the nethermost abyss, 
Invisn)le ; the ear alone 

Pur>^i;e3 the uproar till it dies ; 
Echo to echo, groan for groan, 

From deep to deep replies. 

Silence again the darkness seals, 

Darkness that may be felt ; — but soon 

The silver-clouded east reveals 
Tlie midnight spectre of the moon. 



In half-eclipse she lifts her horn, 
Yet o'er the host of heaven supreme 

Brings the faint semblance of a morn. 
With her awakening beam. 

Ah ! at her touch, these Alpine heights 

Unreal mockeries appear ; 
With blacker shadows, ghastlier lights, 

Emerging as she climbs the sphere : 
A crowd of apparitions pale ! 

I hold my breath in chill suspense — 
They seem so exquisitely frail — 

Lest they should vanish hence. 

I breathe again, I freely breathe ; 

Thee, Leman's Lake, once more I trace, 
Like Dian's crescent far beneath, 

As beautiful as Dian's face : 
Pride of the land that gave me birth ! 

All that thy weaves reflect I love. 
Where heaven itself, brought down to earth, 

Looks fairer than above. 

Safe on thy banks again I stray ; 

The trance of poesy is o'er. 
And I am here at daw^n of day. 

Gazing on mountains as before. 
Where all the strange mutations wrought 

Were magic feats of my own mind : 
For, in that fairy land of thought, 

Whate'er I seek, I find. 

Yet, ye everlasting hills ! 

Buildings of God, not made wath hands,' 
Whose word performs whate'er He wills. 

Whose word, though ye shall perish, stands ; 
Can there be eyes that look on you, 

Till tears of rapture make them dim, 
Nor in his works the Maker view, 

Then lose his works in Him ? 

By me, w'hen I behold Him not, 

Or love Him not when I behold, 
Be all I ever knew forgot — 

My pulse stand still, my heart grow cold ; 
Transformed to ice, 'twixt earth and sky, 

On yonder cliff my form be seen. 
That all may ask, but none reply, 

What my oftence hath been. 

Jamks Montgomery. 



104 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



TO NIGHT. 

Swiftly walk over the western wave, 

Spirit of niglit ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave, 
Where, all the long and lone daylight, 
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 
"Which make thee terrible and dear — 

Swift be thy flight ! 

"Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, 

Star-inwrought ; 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out ; 
Then wander o'er city and sea and land. 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 

Come, long-sought! 

"When I arose and saw the dawn, 

I sighed for thee ; 
"When light rode high, and the dew was gone. 
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree. 
And the weary Day turned to her rest, 
Lingering like an unloved guest^ 

I sighed for thee ? 

Thy brother Death came, and cried, 

"Wouldstthpume?" 
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed. 

Murmured like a noontide bee, 
" Shall I nestle near thy side ? 
"Wouldst thou me ? " — And I replied, 

"No, not thee!" 

Death will come when thou art dead. 

Soon, too soon — 
Sleep will come when thou art fled ; 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
I ask of thee, beloved Night — 
Swift be thine approaching flight, 

Come soon, soon ! 

Pekoy Btssiie Shellkt. 



TO CYNTHIA. 

QuEEX and huntress, chaste and fair, 
Now the sun is laid to sleep, 

Seated in thy silver chair. 
State in wonted manner keep : 

Hesperus entreats thy light. 
Goddess excellently bright ! 



Earth, let not thy envious shade 

Dare itself to interpose ; 
Cynthia's shining orb was made 

Heaven to clear when day did close; 
Bless us, then, with wished sight, 
Goddess excellently bright ! 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 

And thy crystal-shining quiver ; 

Give unto thy flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever ; 

Thou that makest a day of night, 

Goddess excellently bright ! 

Ben Jonson, 



MOONKISE. 

"What stands upon the highland ? 

"What walks across the rise. 
As though a starry island 

Were sinking down the skies ? 

What makes the trees so golden ? 

What decks the mountain side, 
Like a veil of silver folden 

Eound the white brow of a bride ? 

The magic moon is breaking. 
Like a conqueror, from the east, 

The waiting world awaking 
To a golden fairy feast. 

She works, with touch ethereal, 
By changes strange to see, 

The cypress, so fimcreal, 
To a lightsome fairy, tree ; 

Black rocks to marble turning, 

Like palaces of kings ; 
On ruin windows burning, 

A festal glory flings ; 

The desert halls uplighting. 
While falling shadows glance. 

Like courtly crowds uniting 
For the banquet or the dance; 

With ivory wand she numbers 

The stars along the sky ; 
And breaks the billows' slumbers 

With a love-glance of lier eye ; 



f 



THE HARVEST MOON 



105 



Along tlie cornfields dances, 

Brings bloom iipon the sheaf; 
From tree to tree she glances, 

And touches leaf by loaf; 

"Wakes birds that sleep in shadows ; 

Through their half-closed eyelids gleams; 
With her white torch through the meadows 

Lights the shy deer to the streams. 

The magic moon is breaking. 
Like a conqueror, from the east. 

And the joyous world partaking 
Of her golden fiiiry feast. 

Ernest Jones. 



SONNET. 

The crimson Moon, uprising from the sea, 
"With large delight foretells the harvest near. 
Ye shepherds, now prepare your melody, 
To greet the soft appearance of her sphere ! 

And hke a page, enamored of her train, 
The star of evening glimmers in the west : 
Then raise, ye shepherds, your observant 

strain. 
That so of the Great Shepherd here are blest ! 

Our fields are fall with the time-ripened grain, 
Our vineyards with the purple clusters swell; 
Her golden splendor glimmers on the main, 
And vales and mountains her bright glory 

tell. 
Then sing, ye shepherds ! for the time is come 
When we must bring the enriched harvest 

home. 

LOED TntTRLOW. 



TO THE HxiKVEST MOON. 

Cum ruit imbrifernm vcr : 
Spicca jam campis cum mcssis inliorruit. et cum 
Frumenta in viridi stipula lactcntia turgent. 

Cuncta tibi Ccrorcm pubes agrestis adorot. 

VlEGIL. 

Moon of Harvest, lierald mild 
Of Plenty, rustic labor's child, 
Hail ! oh hail ! I greet thy beam, 
As soft it trembles o'er the stream, 
And gilds the straw-thatched hamlet wide, 
Where Innocence and Peace reside ! 
IS 



'Tis thou that gladd'st with joy tlie rustic 
throng, 

Promptest the tripping dance, the exhilarat- 
ing song. 

Moon of Harvest, I do love 

O'er the uplands now to rove, 

While thy modest ray serene 

Gilds the wide surrounding scene ; 

And to watch thee riding high 

In the blue vault of the sky, 
Where no thin vapor intercepts thy ray, 
But in unclouded majesty thou walkest on 
thy way. 

Pleasing 't is, O modest Moon ! 
Now the night is at her noon, 
'Neath thy sway to musing lie, 
While aroimd the zephyrs sigh, 
Fanning soft the sun-tanned wheat, 
Eipened by the summer's heat ; 
Picturing aU the rustic's joy 
When boundless plenty greets his eye, 

And thinking soon, 

O modest Moon ! 
How many a female eye will roam 

Along the road. 

To see the load, 
The last dear load of harvest-home. 

Storms and tempests, floods and rains, 

Stern despoilers of the plains. 

Hence, away, the season flee. 

Foes to light-heart jollity! 

May no winds careering high 

Drive the clouds along the sky, 
But may all Nature smile vrith aspect boon, 
Wlien in the heavens thou show'st thy face, 
harvest Moon ! 

'Neath yon lowly roof he hos, 
The husbandman, with sleep-sealed eyes : 
He dreams of crowded barns, and round 
The yard he hears the flail resound ; 
Oh ! may no hurricane destroy 
His visionary views of joy! 
God of the winds ! oh, hear his humble prater. 
And while the Moon of Harvest sliincs, thy 
blustering whirlwind spare. 

Sons of luxury, to you 

Leave I Sleep's dull power to woo ; 



lOG 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Press ye still the downy bed, 

While feverisli dreams sm-roimd your bead ; 

I will seek the woodland glade, 

Penetrate the thickest shade, 

Wrapped in Contemplation's dreams, 

Musing high on lioly themes, 

While on the gale 

Shall softly sail 
The nightingale's enchanting tune, 

And oft my eyes 

Shall grateful rise 
To thee, the modest Harvest Moon ! 

Henry Kirke "White. 



NIGHT SOi^G. 

The moon is up in splendor. 
And golden stars attend her ; 

The heavens are calm and bright; 
Trees cast a deepening shadow, 
x\.nd slowly off the meadow. 

A mist is rising silver-white. 

Night's curtains now are closing 
Round half a world reposing 

lu calm and holy trust. 
All seems one vast, still chamber, 
Where weary hearts remember 

No more the sorrows of the dust. 

jNIatthias Claudius. (German.) 
Translation of 0. T. Bkooks. 



Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious 

strife?— 
If Light can tlius deceive, wherefore not Life ? 

Blanco "WniTE. 



TO NIGHT. 

Mysterious Night! Avhen our first parent 

knew 
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, 
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame. 
This glorious canopy of light and blue ? 
Yet 'ncath the curtain of translucent dew. 
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 
Hesperus with the host of heaven came, 
And lo ! creation widened in man's view. 
Wlio could have thought such darkness lay 

concealed 
Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find, 
While fly, and leaf, and insect lay revealed, 
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us 

blind! 



SONG.— THE OWL, 

Whex cats run home and light is come, 

And dew is cold upon the ground. 
And the far-oif stream is dumb, 
And the whirring sail goes round. 
And the whirring sail goes round ; 
Alone and warming his five wits, 
The white owl in the belfry sits. 

When merry milkmaids click the latch. 

And rarely smells the new-mown hay, 

And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch 

Twice or thrice his roundelay. 

Twice or thrice his roundelay ; 

Alone and warming his live wits. 

The white owl in the belfry sits. 



SECOSD SOXG TO the SAME. 

Thy tuwhits are lulled, I wot. 
Thy tuwhoos of yesternight. 
Which, upon the dark afloat, 
So took echo vdth delight, 
So took echo with delight. 

That her voice, untuneful grown. 
Wears aU day a fainter tone. 

I would mock thy chaunt anew ; 

But I cannot mimic it ; 
Not a whit of thy tuwhoo. 
Thee to woo to thy tuwhit. 
Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, 
With a lengthened loud halloo, 
Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o. 
Alfred TENNVaorr. 



THE OWL. 

WnxLE the moon, with sudden gle^m, 
Through the clouds that cover her. 

Darts her light upon the stream, 
And the poplars gently stir ; 



A DOUBTING HEART. 



101 



Pleased I hear thy hoding cry, 
Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky! 
Sure thy notes arc harmony. 

While the maiden, jiale •Rith care, 

Wanders to the lonely shade, 
Sighs her sorrows to the aii-. 

While the flowerets round her fade, — 
Shrinks to hear thy boding cry ; 
Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky. 
To her it is not harmony. 

While the wretch with mournful dole, 

Wrings his hands in agony. 
Praying for his brother's soul, 
Whom he pierced suddenly, — 
Shrinks to hear thy boding cry; 
Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky, 
To him it is not harmony. 

Anonymous. 



THE CRICKET. 

EtTTLE inmate, full of mirth, ■ 
Chirping on my kitchen hearth, 
Wheresoe'er be thine abode 
Always harbinger of good. 
Pay me for thy warm retreat 
AYith a song more soft and sweet ; 
In return thou shalt receive 
Such a strain as I can give. 

Thus thy praise shall be expressed. 
Inoffensive, welcome guest ! 
While the rat is on the scout. 
And the mouse with curious snout. 
With what vermin else infest 
Every dish, and spoil the best; 
Frisking thus before the fire, 
Thou hast all thy heart's desire. 

Though in voice and shape they be 
Formed as if akin to thee. 
Thou surpassest, happier fiu*. 
Happiest grasshoppers that are ; 
Theirs is but a summer's song — 
Thine endures the winter long. 
Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear, 
Melody throughout the year. 

William Cowpee. 



TO A CRICIiET. 

Voice of Summer, keen and shrill, 
Chirping round my winter fire. 
Of thy song I never tire. 
Weary others as they will ; 
For thy song with Summer's filled — 
Filled with sunshine, filled with June ; 
Firelight echo of that noon 
Heard in fields when all is stilled 
In the golden light of May, 
Bringing scents of new-mown hay. 
Bees, and birds, and flowers away : 
Prithee, haunt my fireside still, 
Yoice of Summer, keen and yhrill ! 

William 0. Bennett. 



THE DEPAETUEE OF THE SWALLOW 

And is the swallow gone ? 

Who beheld it? 

Which way sailed it ? 
Farewell bade it none ? 

No mortal saw it go : — 

But who doth hear 

Its summer cheer 
As it flitteth to and fro ? 

So the freed spirit flies ! 

From its surrounding clay 

It steals away 
Like the swallow from the skies. 

Whither? wherefore doth it go? 

'T is all unknown ; 

We feel alone 
That a void is left below. 

William notriTT. 



A DOUBTING HEART. 

WiiEKE are the swallows fled ? 

Frozen and dead 
Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore 
O doubting heart ! 
Far over purple seas. 
They wait, in sunny ease. 
The balmy southern breeze 
To bring them to their northern homes onco 
more. 



108 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



"Why must the flowers die ? 

Prisonecl they lie 
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain. 
doubting heart ! 
They only sleep below 
The soft white ermine snow 
While winter winds shall blow, 
To breathe and smile upon you soon again. 

The sun has hid its rays 

These many days ; 
"Will dreary hours never leave the earth ? 
O doubting heart ! 
The stormy clouds on higli 
Veil the same sunny sky 
That soon, for Spring is nigh, 
Shall waiie the Summer into golden mirth. 

Fair hope is dead, and light 

Is quenched in night ; 
What sound can break the silence of despair ? 
O doubting heart ! 
The sky is overcast, 
Yet stars shall rise at last. 
Brighter for darkness past. 
And angels' silver voices stu* the air, 

Adelaide Anne Peoctee. 



FANCY. 



Ever let the Fancy roam ; 

Pleasure never is at home : 

xit a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 

Like to bubbles when rain peltcth ; 

Then let winged Fancy wander 

Through the thought still spread beyond her ; 

Open wide the mind's cage-door— 

She '11 dart forth, and cloudward soar. 

sweet Fancy ! let her loose ! 

Summer's joys are spoilt by use, 

And the enjoying of the Spring 

Fades as does its blossoming. 

Autumn's red-lipped fruitage too, 

Blushing througli the mist and dew, 

Cloys with tasting. What do then ? 

Sit thee by the ingle, when 

The sear faggot blazes briglit, 

Spirit of a winter's night ; 

When the soundless earth is^rijuffled, 

And the caked snow is shuffled 



From the ploughboy's heavy shoon ; 

"When the Night doth meet the Noon 

In a dark conspiracy 

To banish Even from her sky. 

Sit thee there, and send abroad, 

With a mind self-overawed, 

Fancy, high-commissioned ; — send her ! 

She has vassals to attend her ; 

She will bring, in spite of frost. 

Beauties that the earth hath lost ; — 

She will bring thee, all together, 

All delights of summer weather ; 

All the buds and bells of May,' 

From dewy sward or thorny spray ; 

All the heaped Autumn's wealth ; — 

With a still, mysterious stealth ; 

She will mix these pleasures up 

Like three fit wines in a cup, 

And thou shalt quaif it, — thou shalt hear 

Distant harvest-carols clear — 

Rustle of the reaped corn ; 

Sweet birds antheming the morn ; 

And, in the same moment — ^liark ! 

'T is the early April lark, — 

Or the rooks, with busy caw. 

Foraging for sticks and straw. 

Thou shalt, at one glance, behold 

The daisy and the marigold ; 

White-plumed lilies, and the first 

Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst ; 

Shaded hyacinth, alway 

Sapphire queen of the mid-May \ 

And every leaf, and every flower 

Pearled with the self-same shower. 

Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep 

Meagre from its celled sleep : 

And the snake, all winter-thin, 

Cast on sunny bank its skin ; 

Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see 

Hatching in the hawthorn-tree. 

When the hen-bird's wing doth rest 

Quiet on her mossy nest ; 

Then the hurry and alarm 

When the bee-hive casts its swarm ; 

Acorns ripe down-pattering 

Wliile the autumn breezes sing. 

Oh sweet Fancy ! let her loose ! 
Every thing is spoilt by use ; 
Where 's the cheek that doth not fade, 



WINTER FANCIES. 



109 



Too much gazed at ? Where 's the maid 

Whoso lip mature is ever new ? 

Where 's the eye, however blue, 

Doth not weary? Where 's the face 

One would meet in every place? 

Where 's the voice, however soft, 

One would hear so very oft ! 

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. 

Let, then, winged Fancy find 

Thee a mistress to thy mind : 

Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daugliter 

Ere the god of Torment taught her 

How to frown and how to chide ; 

With a waist and with a side 

White as Hebe's when her zone 

Slipt its golden clasp, and down 

Fell her kirtle to her feet. 

While she held the goblet sweet, 

And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh 

Of the Fancy's silken leash ; 

Qnickly break her prison-string, 

And such joys as these she '11 bring. — 

Let the winged Fancy roam ; 

Pleasure never is at home. 

■*• John Keats. 



PE WINDY NIGHT. 

>■ ■ 

Alow and aloof, 

Over the roof. 
How the midnight tempests howl ! 
With a dreary voice, like the dismal tune 
Of wolves that bay at the desert moon ; 

Or Avhistle and shriek 

Through limbs that creak. 

"Tu-who! Tu-whit!" 

They cry, and flit, 
"Tu-whit! Tu-who!" like the solemn owl! 

Alow and aloof, 

Over the roof. 
Sweep the moaning winds amain, 

And wildly dash 

The elm and ash, 
Clattering on the window sash 

With a clatter and patter 

Like hail and rain. 

That well nigh shatter 

The dusky pane ! 



Alow and aloof. 

Over the roof, 
How the tempests swell and roar ! 

Thougli no foot is astir, 

Though the cat and the cur 
Lie dozing along the kitchen floor. 

There are feet of air 

On every stair — 

Through every hall ! 

Through each gusty door 

There 's a jostle and bu-stle, 

With a silken rustle. 
Like the meeting of guests at a festival ! 

Alow and aloof. 

Over the roof. 
How the stormy tempests swell ! 

And make the vane 

On the spire complain ; 
They heave at the steeple with might and main, 

And burst and sweep 

Into the belfry, on the bell ! 
They smite it so hard, and they smite it so well, 

That the sexton tosses his arms in sleep. 
And dreams he is ringing a funeral knell ! 

TnoMAS Buchanan Eead. 



THE MIDNIGHT WIND. 

Mournfully! oh, mournfully 

This midnight wind doth sigh. 
Like some sweet, plaintive melody 

Of ages long gone by ! 
It speaks a tale of other years, — 

Of hopes that bloomed to die, — 
Of sunny smiles that set in tears, 

And loves that mouldering lie ! 

Mournfully ! oh, mournfully 

This midnight wind doth moan! 
It stirs some chord of memory 

In each dull, heavy tone ; 
The voices of the much-loved dead 

Seem floating thereupon, — 
All, all my fond heart cherished 

Ere death had made it lone. 

Mournfully! oh, mom-nfully 
This midnight wind doth swell 

With its quaint, pensive minstrelsy, - 
Hope's passionate forewell 



110 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



To the dreamy joys of early years, 

Ere yet grief's canker fell' 
On the heart's bloom,— ay ! well may tears 

Start at that parting knell ! 

William Motherwell. 



BLOW, BLOW, TflOU WDTTER WIN"©. 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind — 
Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude ; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen, 

Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green 

holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most lo^ang mere 
folly; 
Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
This life is most jolly ! 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky — 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot ; 
Though thou the waters warp. 
Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remembered not. 
Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green 

holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere 

folly; 

Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 

This life is most jolly! 

Shakespeare. 



THE HOLLY-TREE. 

O READEE ! hast thou ever stood to see 

The holly-tree ! 
The eye that contemplates it well, perceives 

Its glossy leaves 
Ordered by an intelligence so wise 
As might confound the atheist's sophistries. 

Below, a circHng fence, its leaves are seen 

Wrinkled and keen ; 
No grazing cattle, through their prickly round. 

Can reach to wound ; 
But as they grow where nothing is to fear, 
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves 
appear. 



I love to view these things with curious eyes. 

And moralize ; 
And in this wisdom of the holly-tree 

Can emblems see 
Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant 

rhyme, 
One which may profit in the after-time. 

Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might 
appeal" 

Harsh and austere — 
To those who on my leisure would intrude, 

Reserved and rude ; 
Gentle at home amid my friends I 'd be, 
Like the high leaves upon the holly-tree. 

And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, 

Some harshness show, 
All vain asperities I, day by day. 

Would wear away, 
TiU the smooth temper of my age should be 
Like the high leaves upon the holly-tree. 

And as, when all the summer trees are seen 

So bright and green. 
The holly-leaves their fadeless hues display 

Less bright than they ; 
But when the bare and wintry woods wo see, 
What then so cheerful as the holly-tree ? 

So, serious should my youth appear among 

The thoughtless throng ; 
So would I seem, amid the young and gay, 

More grave than they ; 
That in my age as cheerful I might be 
As the green ■\\nnter of the holly-tree. 

EOBEKT SOUXHET. 



WOODS IX WINTER. 

Wdex winter winds are piercing chill, 
And tlu'ough the hawthorn blows the gale, 

With solemn feet I tread the hill 
That overbrows the lonely vale. 

O'er the bare upland, and away 
Through the long reach of desert woods, 

The embracing sunbeams chastely play, 
And gladden these deep solitudes. 



WINTER. 



Ill 



Where, twisted round the barren oak, 
The summer vine in beauty clung, 

And summer winds the stillness broke, — 
The crystal icicle is hung. 

Where, from their frozen urns, mute spi-ings 
Pour out the river's gradual tide. 

Shrilly the skater's iron rings 
And voices fill the woodland side. 

Alas ! how changed from the fair scene 
When birds sang out their mellow lay. 

And winds were soft, and woods were green. 
And the song ceased not with the day. 

But stUl, wUd music is abroad. 

Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; 
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord. 

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. 

Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear 
Has grown familiar with your song ; 

I hear it in the opening year, — 
I listen, and it cheers me long. 

Henry Wadswoktu Longfellow. 



FORTH WIND. 

Loud wind ! strong wind ! sweeping o'er the 

mountains ; 
Fresh wind ! free wind ! blowing from the 

sea, 
Pour forth tliy vials like torrents from air 

fountains. 
Draughts of life to me. 

Clear wind ! cold wind ! like a northern giant. 

Stars brightly threading thy cloud-driven 
hair. 

Thrilling the blank night with thy voice de- 
fiant — 

Lo ! I meet thee there ! 

Wild wind ! bold wind ! like a strong-armed 

angel 
Clasp me and kiss me with thy kisses 

divine ! 
Breathe in this didled ear thy secret, sweet 

evangel, — 
Mine, and only mine I 



Fierce wind! mad wind! howling o'er the 

nations ! 
Knew'st thou how leapeth my heart as thou 

goest by, 
AhJ thou wouldst pause awhile in sudden 

patience. 
Like a human sigh ! 

Sharp wind ! keen wind ! cutting as word 

arrows, 
Empty thy quiver-full ! Pass by ! what is 't 

to thee. 
That in some mortal eyes life's whole 

bright circle narrows 
To one misery ? 

Loud wind! strong wind ! stay thou in the 

mountains ; 
Fresh wind ! free wind ! trouble not the sea ! 
Or lay thy deathly hand upon my heart's 

warm fountains 
That I hear not thee ! 

Dinah Mabia Mulook. 



THE SNOW-STORM. 

AxxouxcED by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow ; and, driving o'er the fields 
Seems nowhere to alight ; the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the 

heaven. 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier'? 

feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemate? 

sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come see the north wind's masonry. 
Out of an unseen quarry, evermore 
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
Curves his white bastions with projected rool 
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door; 
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild woi'k 
So fanciful, so savage ; nought cares he 
For number or proportion. Mockingly, 
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreathes 
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn ; 
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 
Maugre the farmer's sighs ; and at the gate 
A tapering turret overtops the work. 



112 POEMS 01 


1 
NATURE. 


And when Lis hours are numbered, and the 


Though these be good, true wl.sdoui to imparl" r 


world 


He who has not enough for these to spare, 


Is all his own, retiring as he were not. 


Of time or gold, may yet amend his lieart. 


Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art 


And teach his soul by brooks and rivers 


, To mimic in slow structures, stone hj stone. 


fair — 


Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, 


Nature is always wise in every part. 


The frolic architecture of the snow. 


Lord Thttklow. 


Ealph Waldo Emekson. 




TO THE REDBREAST. 




WINTER SONG. 






Sweet bird! that sing'st away the early 


SuMMEE joys are o'er ; 


hours 


Flowerets bloom no more, 


Of winters past or coming, void of care ; 


"Wintry winds are sweeping ; 


Well pleased with delights which present are, 


Through the snow-drifts, peeping. 


Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling 


Cheerfid evergreen 


flowers — 


Rarely now is seen. 


To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy 




bowers 


Now no plumed throng 


Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, 


Charms the wood with song ; 


And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare, 


Ice-bound trees are glittering ; 


A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. 


Merry snow-birds, twittering. 


Wliat soul can be so sick which by thy songs 


Fondly strive to cheer 


(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven 


Scenes so cold and drear. 


Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and 


Winter, still I see 


wrongs. 


Many charms in thee — 


And lift a reverend eye and thought to 


Love thy chilly greeting, 


Heaven ! 


Snow-storms fiercely beating, 


Sweet, artless songster! thou my mind dost 


And the dear delights 


raise 


Of the long, long nights. 


To airs of spheres — yes, and to angels' lays. 




William Dettmmond. 


LuDwis HoLTT. (German.) 




Translation of C. T. Brooks. 




AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY. 




SONNET 






The day is ending. 


TO A BIRD THAT HAUNTED THE WATERS OF 


The night is descending ; 


LAAKEN m THE WIS'TER. 






The marsh is frozen. 


MELAis-cnoLY bird, a winter's day 


The river dead. 


Thou standest by the margin of the pool. 




And, taught by God, dost thy whole being 


Through clouds like ashes 


school 


The red sun flashes 


To patience, which all evil can allay. 


On village windows 


God has appointed thee the fish thy prey. 


That glimmer red. 


And given thyself a lesson to the fool 




Unthrifty, to submit to moral rule. 


The snow recommences ; 


And his imthinking course by thee to weigh. 


The buried fences 


There need not schools nor the professor's 


Mark no longer 


chair, 


The road o'er the plain ; 



WINTER. 



113 



While tlirough the meadows, 
Like fearful shadows, 
Slowly passes 
A funeral train. 

The bell is pealing, 
And every feeling 
Within me responds 
To the dismal knell ; 

Shadows are trailing, 
My heart is bewailing 
And tolling witliin 
Like a funeral bell. 

Henky Wadsworth Longfellow. 



A SOXG FOR THE SEASOiTS. 

Wrex the merry lark doth gild 

With his song the smnmer hours. 
And their nests the swallows build 

In the roofs and tops of towers. 
And the golden broom-flower burns 

All aboiit the Avaste, 
And the maiden May returns 

With a pretty haste,— 

Tlien^ hoiD merry are the times ! 

The Summer times ! the Spring times ! 

Now, from off the ashy stone 

The chilly midnight cricket crieth. 
And all merry birds are flown, 

And our dream of pleasure dieth ; 
Now the once blue, laughing sky 

Saddens into gray. 
And the frozen rivers sigh, 

Pining all away ! 
JSfoio, hoio solemn are the times ! 
The Winter times ! the Night times ! 

Yet, be merry : all around 

Is through one vast change revolving ; 
Even Night, who lately frowned. 

Is in paler dawn dissolving; 
Eartli will burst her fetters strange. 

And in Spring grow free ; 
All things in the world will change. 
Save — my love for thee ! 

Sing then, hopeful are all times ! 
Winter, Summer, Spring times ! 

Bakrt Cornwall. 

19 



DIRGE FOR THE YEAR. 

Obphax Hours, the Year is dead. 
Come and sigh, come and weep ! 

Merry Hours, smile instead. 
For the Y^'ear is but asleep : 

See, it smiles as it is sleeping. 

Mocking your untimely weeping. 

As an eartli quake rocks a corse 

In its coffin in the clay, 
So white Winter, that rough nurse. 

Rocks the dead-cold Year to-day ; 
Solemn Hours ! wail aloud 
For your mother in her shroud. 

As the wild air stirs and sways 
The tree-swung cradle of a child. 

So the breath of these rude days 
Rocks the Year. Be calm and mild, 

Trembling Hours ; she will arise 

With new love Avithin her eyes. 

January gray is here. 

Like a sexton by her grave; 

February bears the bier ; 

March with grief doth howl and rave, 

And April weeps — but, O ye Hours ! 

Follow with May's &ii-est flowers. 

Percy Btsshe Shelley. 



INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS 

IN CALLING FORTH AND STRENGTnENING THE 
IMAGINATION IN BOVnOOD AND YOUTH. 

Wisdom and Spirit of the uiw'erse ! 
Thou Soul, that art the eternity of thought! 
And giv'st to forms and images a breath 
And everlasting motion ! not in vain. 
By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn 
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me 
The passions that build up our human soul — 
Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man, 
But with high objects, vrith enduring things, 
With Life and Nature ; purifying thus 
The elements of feeling and of thought, 
And sanctifying by such discipline 
Both pain and fear, — until we recognize 
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. 



114 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Nor was this fellowsliip vouchsafed to me 
With stinted kindness. In November days, 
When vapors rolHng down the valleys made 
A lonely scene more lonesome ; among woods 
At noon; and 'mid the calm of summer 

nights, 
Wlien, by the margin of the trembling lake, 
Beneath the gloomy hills, homeward I went 
In solitude, such intercourse was mine. 
Mine was it in the tlelds both day and night, 
And by the waters, all the Summer long; 
And in the frosty season, when the sun 
Was set, and, visible for many a mile. 
The cottage windows through the twilight 

blazed, 
I heeded not the summons. Happy time 
It was indeed for -all of us ; for me 
It was a time of rapture ! Clear and loud 
The village-clock tolled six ; I wheeled about, 
Proud and exulting like an untired horse 
That cares not for his home. All sliod with 

steel. 
We hissed along the polished ice, in games 
Confederate, imitative of the chase 
And woodland pleasures, — the resounding 

horn, 
The pack loud-chiming, and the hunted hare. 
So through the darkness and tlie cold we flew, 
And not a voice Avas idle. With the din 
Smitten, the precipices rang aloud ; 
The leafless trees and every icy crag 
Tinkled hke iron; while far-distant hills 
Into the tumult sent an alien sound 
Of melancholy, not unnoticed ; Avhile the stars, 
Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the 

west 
The orange sky of evening died away. 

Not seldom from the uproar I retired 
Into a silent bay, or sportively 
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous 

throng. 
To cut across the reflex of a star — 
I'.iiage, that, flying still before me, gleamed 
Upon the glassy plain. And oftentimes. 
When we had given our bodies to the wind. 
And all the shadowy banks on either side 
Came sweeping through the darkness, spin- 
ning still 
The rapid line of motion, then at once 
Have I, reclining back upon my heels, 



Stopped short ; yet still the solitary cliffs 
Wheeled by me, — even as if the Earth had 

rolled 
With visible motion her diurnal round ! 
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train. 
Feebler and feebler ; and I stood and watclied 
Till all was tranquil as a summer sea. 

William Wokdswokth. 



HYMN 

BEFOEE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CnAMOTTNI. 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star 
In his steep course? So long he seems to 

pause 
On thy bald, awful head, sovereign Blanc ! 
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awfifl Form, 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
How silently ! Around thee and above 
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black — 
An ebon mass. Methinks thou i>iercest it, 
As with a wedge ! But when I look again. 
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal 

shi-ine, 
Thy habitation from eternity ! 

dread and silent ilount ! I gazed upon thee. 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. 
Didst vanish from my thought. Entranced in 

prayer 

1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, 
So sweet we know not v.^e are listening to it, 
Thou, the meanwhile, -wast blending with 

my thouglit — 
Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy — 
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, 
Into the mighty vision passing — tliere, 
As in her natural form, swelled vast to 

Heaven ! 

Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise 
Thou owdst ! not alone these swelling tears. 
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy ! Awake, 
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, 

awake ! 
Green vales and icy cliff's, all join my hymn. 



HYMN IN THE VALE OF CIIAMOUNI. 



115 



Tliou first and cliicf, sole sovereign of tlie 

vale ! 
Oh, struggling with tlie darkness all the night, 
And visited all night by troops of stars, 
Or wiien they climb the sky or when they 

sink — 
Companion of the morning-star at dawn, 
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald — wake, oh wake, and utter praise ! 
Who s:iuk thy sunless pillars deep in earth? 
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? 
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 

And you, ye five v.'ild torrents fiercely glad ! 
Who called you forth from night and utter 

death, 
From dark and icj caverns Ciilled you forth, 
Down t jose precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 
For ever shattered and the same for ever ? 
Who gave you your invulnerable life. 
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and 

your joy, 
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 
And wlio commanded (and the silence came). 
Here let the billows stiifen, and have rest? 

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's 
brow 

Adown enormous ravines slope amain — 

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty 
voice, 

And stopped at once amid their maddest 
plunge ! 

Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 

Who made you glorious- as the gates of 
Heaven 

Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade 
l,he sun 

Clothe you with rainbows ? Who. wit]\ liv- 
ing flowers 



Of loveliest blue, s])read garlands at yoviv 
feet? 

God ! — let the torrents, like a shout of na- 
tions. 

Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! 

God! sing ye meadow-streams with glad- 
some voice ! 

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like 
sounds ! 

And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow. 

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, 
God! 
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal 
frost ! 

Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! 

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 

Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 

Utter forth God, and fill the hills with 
praise ! 

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky- 
pointing peaks. 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard. 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure 

serene, 
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast — 
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou 
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow travelling with dim eyes suifused with 

tears. 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 
To rise before me — Rise, oh ever rise ! 
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth ! 
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, 
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, 
Great Hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun. 
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 

Samuel Tayi.oe Coleeidce. 



PAET 11. 
POEMS OF CHILDHOOD 



Piping down the valleys wild, 
Pilling songs of pleasant glee, 

On a cloud I saw a child, 
And he, laughing, said to me : 

" Pipe a song about a lamb." 

So I piped with merry cheer. 
"Piper, pipe that song again." 

So I piped ; he wept to hear. 

" Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, 
Sing thy songs of happy cheer.'' 

So I sung the same again, 
While he wept with joy to hear. 

"Piper, sit thee down and write. 
In a book, that all may read." — 

So he vanished fi'om my sight. 
And I plucked a hollow reed ; 

And 1 made a rural pen ; 

And I stained the water clear 
And I wrote my happy songs 

Every child may joy to hear. 

William Blake. 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



BABY MAY. 

Cheeks as soft as July peaches ; 
Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches 
Poppies paleness ; round large eyes 
Ever great with new surprise ; 
Minutes filled with shadeless gladness ; 
Minutes just as brimmed with sadness ; 
Happy smiles and wailing cries ; 
Crows and laughs and tearful eyes ; 
Lights and shadows, swifter horn 
Than on wind-swept autumn corn ; 
Ever some new tiny notion, 
Making every limb all motion ; 
Catchings up of legs and arms ; 
Tlirowings back and small alarms ; 
Clutching fingers ; straightening jerks ; 
Twining feet whose each toe works ; 
Ivickings up and straining risings ; 
Mother's ever new surprisings ; 
Hands all wants and looks all wonder 
At all things the heavens under ; 
Tiny scorns of smiled i-eprovings 
That have more of love than lovings ; 
^lischiefs done with such a winning 
Archness that we prize such sinning; 
Breakings dire of plates and glasses ; 
G raspings small at all that passes ; 
Pullings oft' of all that 's able 
To be caught from tray or table ; 
Silences — small meditations 
Deep as thoughts of cares for nations ; 
Breaking into wisest speeches 
lu a tongue that nothing teaches ; 
All the thoughts of whose possessing 
Must be -wooed to light by guessing ; 



Slumbers — such sweet angel-seem inga 
That we 'd ever have such dreamings ; 
Till from sleep we see thee breaking, 
And we 'd always have thee waking ; 
Wealth for Avhich we know no measure ; 
Pleasure high above all pleasure , 
Gladness brimming over gladness ; 
Joy in care ; delight in sadness ; 
Loveliness beyond completeness ; 
Sweetness distancing all sweetness ; 
Beauty all that beauty may be ; — 
That 's May Bennett ; that 's my baby. 

WiLLiAji C. Bennett. 



LULLABY. 

Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea, 
Low, low, breathe and blow. 

Wind of the western sea ! 
Over the rolling waters go ; 
Come from the dying raoon, and blow. 

Blow him again to me ; 
While my little one, while my pretty one, 
sleeps. 

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest ; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
Eest, rest on mothei*'s breast ; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
FatRer will come to his babe in the nest; 
Silver sails all out of the west 

Under the silver moon ; 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 
Alfred Tknntson 



120 



POEMS OF CIIILDHOOD. 



CHOOSING A NAME. 

I HiS-TE got a new-born sister; 

I was nigh tlie first that kissed her. 

When the nursing-woman brouglit her 

To papa, his infant daughter, 

How papa's dear eyes did glisten ! — 

She will shortly be to christen ; 

And papa has made the offer, 

I shall have the naming of her. 

Now I wonder what would please her — 
Charlotte, Julia, or Lousia ? 
Ann and Mary, they 're too connnon ; 
Joan 's too tbrraal for a woman ; 
Jane 's a prettier name beside ; 
But we had a Jane that died. 
They would say, if 't was Eebecca, 
That she was a little Quokei-. 
Edith 's pretty, but that looks 
Better in old English books ; 
Ellen 's left off long ago ; 
Blanche is out of fashion now. 
None that I have named as yet 
Are so good as Margaret. 
■ Emily is neat and fine ; 
What do you think of Caroline ? 
How I 'm puzzled and perplexed 
What to choose or think of next ! 
I am in a little fever 
Lest the name that I should give her 
Should disgrace her or defame her ; — ■ 
I will leave papa to name her. 

Mabt Lamb. 



THE CHRISTENING. 

Aerated — a hdf-angelic sight — 
In vests of pure baptismal white. 
The mother to the Font doth bring 
The little helpless, nameless thing 
With hushes soft and mild caressing, 
At once to get — a name and blessing. 
Close by the babe the priest doth stand, 
The cleansing water at his hand 
Which must assoil the soul within 
From every stain of Adam's sin. 
The infant eyes the mystic scenes, 
Nor knows vrhat all this wonder means ; 



And novr he smiles, as if to say, 

" I am a Christian made this day ; " 

Now frighted clings to nurse's hold. 

Shrinking from the water cold. 

Whose virtues, rightly understood. 

Are, as Bethesda's waters, good. 

Strange words— The World, The Flesh, The 

Devil- 
Poor babe, what can it know of evil? 
But we must silently adore 
Mysterious truths, and not explore. 
Enough for him, in after-times. 
When he shall read these artless rhymes, 
If, looking back upon this day 
With quiet conscience, he can say, 
" I have in part redeemed the pledge 
Of my baptismal privilege ; 
And more and more will strive to flee 
All which my sponsors kind did then re- 
nounce for me." 

CnARLE3 Lamb. 



WILLIE WINKIE. 

Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town. 
Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, 
Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, 
"Are the weans in their bed? — for it's uovy' 
ten o'clock." 

Hey, Willie Winkie ! are ye comin' ben ? 
The cat 's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' 

hen, 
The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna 

gie a cheep ; 
But here 's a Avaukrife laddie, that winna fa' 

asleep. 

Ony thing but sleep, ye rogue ! — glow'rin' like 

the moon, 
Eattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon, 
Rumbhn', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like 

a cock, 
Skirliu' like a kcnna-what — wauknin' sleepin' 

folk! 

Hey, Willie Winkie ! the wean 's in a creel ! 
Waumblin' aff a bodie's knee like a vera eel, 
Rnggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her 

thrums : 
Hey, Willie Winkie ! —See, tliere he comes ! 



BABYHOOD. 



12] 



Wearie is the mitlier that has a storie wean, 
A. weo stumpie stoussio, that canna rin his 

hxne, 
Tliat has a battle aye wi' sleep, before he '11 

close an CO ; 
But a kiss frae aft" his rosy lips gies strength 

anew to nie. 

WrLLIAM MiLLBE. 



TO FEltDINAND SEYMOUR. 

Rosy child, with forehead fair, 
Coral lip, and shining hair. 
In whose mirthful, clever eyes 
Such a world of gladness lies ; 
As thy loose curls idly straying 
O'er thy mother's cheek, while playing, 
Blend her soft lock's shadowy twine 
"With the glittering light of thine, — 
Who shall say, who gazes now, 
"Which is fairest, she or thou ? 

In sweet contrast are ye met, 
Such as heart could ne'er forget: 
Thou art brilliant as a flower, 
Crimsoning in the sunny hour ; 
Merrj' as a singing-bird. 
In the green wood sweetly heard ; 
Restless as if fluttering wings 
Bore thee on thy wanderings ; 
Ignorant of all distress, 
Full of childhood's carelessness. 

She is gentle ; she hath known 
Something of the echoed tone 
Sorrow leaves, where'er it goes, 
In this world of many woes. 
On her brow such shadows are 
As, the faint cloud gives the star. 
Veiling its most holy light, 
Thougli it still be pure and bright ; 
And the color in her cheek 
To the hue on thine is weak. 
Save when flushed with sweet surprise. 
Sudden welcomes light her eyes ; 
And her softly chiselled face 
(But for living, moving grace) 
Looks like one of those which beam 
In th' Italian painter's dream, — 
20 



Some beloved Madonna, bending 
O'er the infant she is tending : 
Holy, bright, and undefiled 
Mother of the Heaven-born child ; 
Who, though painted strangely fair, 
Seems but made for holy prayer. 
Pity, tears, and sweet appeal. 
And fondness such as angels feel ; 
Baffling earthly passion's sigh 
With serenest majesty! 

Oh ! may those enshrouded years 
AVhose fair dawn alone appears, — 
May that brightly budding life. 
Knowing yet nor sin nor strife, — 
Bring its store of hoped-for joy. 
Mother, to thy laughing boy ! 
And the good thou dost impart 
Lie deep -treasured in his heart, 
That, when he at length shall strive 
In the bad world where we live. 
Thy sweet name may still be blest 
As one who taught his soul true rest ! 

Caeoline Nokton. 



PHILIP, J.IY KING. 

"Who boars upon his baby brow the round 
And top of sovereignty." 

Look at me with thy large brown eyes, 

Philip, my king ! 
For round thee the purple shadow lies 
Of bal^yhood's royal dignities. 
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand 
With Love's invisible sceptre laden ; 
I am thine Esther, to command 

Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden, 
Philip, my king ! 

Oh, the day when thou goest a-wooing, 

Philip, my kisg! 
When those beautiful lips 'gin suing, 
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing, 
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there 

Sittest love-glorified ! — Rule kindly, 
Tenderly over thy kingdom foir ; 
For we that love, ah ! we love so blindly, 
Philip, my king ! 



1 



122 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



I gaze from thy sweet moutli up to thy brow, 

Philip, my king ! 
The spirit that there lies sleeping now, 
May rise like a giant, and make men bow 
As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers. 
My Saul, than thy brethren higher and 
fairer, 
Let me behold thee in future years ! 
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, 
Philip, my king — 

A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day, 

Philip, my king ! 
Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way 
Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray ; 
Rebels within thee, and foes without 

Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, 
glorious. 
Martyr, yet monarch ! till angels shout, 
As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious, 
" Phihp, the king 1 " 

Dinah Maria Mtjlock. 



THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. 

A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that, 
vrljen a child smiles in its sleep, it is "talking with 
angels." 

A B.VBY was sleeping ; 
Its mother was weeping ; 
For lier husband was far on the wild raging 
sea; 
And the tempest was swelling 
Round the fisherman's dwelling; 
And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh come 
back to me ! " 

Her beads while she numbered. 
The baby still slumbered, 
And smiled in her face as she bended her 
knee : 
" Oh blest be that warning. 
My child, thy sleep adorning, 
For I know that the angels are whispering 
with thee. 

" And while they are Keeping 

Bright watch o'er thy sleeping. 

Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me ! 



And say thou wouldst rather 
They'd watch o'er thy father ! 
For I know that the angels are whispering 

to thee." 

The dawn of the morning 
Saw Dermot returning. 
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father 
to see ; 
And closely caressing 
Her child with a blessing. 
Said, "I knew that the angels were whis- 
pering with thee." 

Samitel LovEit. 



THE CHILD AND THE WATCHER. 

Sleep on, baby on the floor. 

Tired of all thy playing — 
Sleep with smile the sweeter for 

That you dropped away in ; 
On your curls' fair roundness stand 

Golden lights serenely ; 
One cheek, pushed out by the hand, 

Folds the dimple inly — 
Little head and little foot 

Heavy laid for pleasure ; 
Underneath the lids half-shut 

Plants the shining azure ; 
Open-souled in noonday sun. 

So, you lie and slumber ; 
Nothing evil having done. 

Nothing can encumber. 

I, who cannot sleep as well, 

Shall I sigh to view you ? 
Or sigh further to foretell 

All that may imdo you ? 
Nay, keep smiling, little child, 

Ere the fate appeareth ! 
I smile, too ; for patience mild 

Pleasure's token weareth. 
Nay, keep sleeping before loss ; 

I shall sleep, though losing ! 
As by cradle, so by cross. 

Sweet is the reposing. 

And God knows, who sees us twain, 

Child at childish leisure, 
I am all as tired of pain 

As you are of pleasure. 



THE CHILD ASLEEP. 



Very soon, too, by His grace, 

Gently wrapt around mc, 
I shall show as calm a face, 

I shall sleep as soundly — 
Differing in this, that you 

Ciasp your playthings sleeping. 
While my hand must drop the few 

Given to my keeping — 

Differing in this, that I, 

Sleeping, must be colder, 
And, in waking presently, 

Brighter to beholder — 
Differing in this beside 

(Sleeper, have you heard me? 
Do you move, and open wiilc 

Your great eyes toward jne ?) 
That while I you draw withal 

From this slumber solclj". 
Me, from mine, an angel shall, 

Trumpet-tongued and holy ! 

Elizabeth Bakbett Browning. 



THE CHILD ASLEEP, 

Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's 
face. 
Sleep ou the bosom tliat thy lips have 
pressed ! 
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place 
Thy di'owsy eyelid on thy mother's breast. 

Upon that tender eye, my little friend. 

Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to 
me! 
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend ; 
'Tis sweet to watch for thee — alone for 
thee ! 

His arms fall down ; sleep sits upon his brow ; 
His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams 
of harm. 
"Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow. 
Would you not say he slept on Death's 
cold arm ? 

Awake, n<y boy I-^I tremble Avith affright! 

Awake, and chase this fatal thouglitl — 
Unclose 
Thine eye but for one moment on the light ! 

Even at the price of thhic, give mc repose ! 



Sweet error ! — he but slept — I breathe again. 

Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep 
beguile ! 
Oh ! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain, 

Beside me watch to see thy waking smile ? 

Clotildb de Stryille. (French.) 
Translation of II. W. Longfellow. 



THE KITTEX AND F^\XLING LEAVES. 

That way look, my infant, lo ! 
What a pretty baby- show! 
See the kitten on the wall, 
Sporting vrith the leaves that fall — 
Withered leaves, — one, two, and thi'ee, — ■ 
From the lofty elder-tree ! 
Through the calm and frosty air 
Of this morning bright and fair, 
Eddying round and round, they sink 
Softly, slowly ; one might think, 
From the motions that are made, 
Every little leaf conveyed 
Sylpli or fairy hither tending, 
To this lower world descending, 
Each invisible and mute 
In his wavering parachute. 

But the Kitten, how she starts, 

Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts I 
First at one, and then its fellow 
Just as light and just as yellow ; 
There are many now, — ^now one, — 
Now they stop, and there are none. 
What intenseness of desire 
In her upward eye of fire ! 
With a tiger-leap ! Ilalf-way 
Now she meets the coming prey, 
Lets it go as fast, and then 
Has it in her power again ; 
Now she works with three or four, 
Like an Indian conjurer; 
Quick as he in feats of art, 
Far beyond in joy of heart. 
Were her antics played in the eye 
Of a thousand standera-by. 
Clapping hands with shout and stare. 
What would little Tabby care 
For the plaudits of the crowd ? 
Over happy to be proud, 



124 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Over wealthy in tlie treasure 
Of her own exceeding pleasure ! 

'T is a pretty baby treat, 
ISTor, I deem, for me unmeet ; 
Here for neither Babe nor me 
Other playmate can I see. 
Of the countless living things 
That with stir of feet and wings 
(In the sun or under shade, 
Upon bough or grassy blade). 
And with busy revellings. 
Chirp, and song, and murmurmgs. 
Made this orchard's narrow space. 
And this vale, so blithe a place ; 
Multitudes are swept away. 
Never more to breathe the day. 
Some are sleeping; some in bands 
Travelled mto distant lands ; 
Others slunk to moor and wood. 
Far from human neighborhood ; 
And, among the kinds that keep 
"With us closer fellowship. 
With us openly abide. 
All have laid their mirth aside. 

Where is he, that giddy sprite. 
Blue-cap, with his colors bright, 
Who was blest as bird could be, 
Feeding in the apple-tree — 
Made such wanton spoil and rout. 
Turning blossoms inside out — 
Hung, head pointing towards the ground. 
Fluttered, perched, into a round 
Boimd himself, and then unboi;nd — 
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin ! 
Prettiest tumbler ever seen ! 
Light of heart, and light of limb — 
What is now become of him ? 
Lambs, that through the. mountains went 
Frisking, bleating merriment. 
When the year was in its prime. 
They are sobered by this time. 
If you look to vale or hill. 
If you listen, all is still. 
Save a little neighboring rill 
That from out the rocky ground 
Strikes a solitary sound. 
Vainly glitter hill and plain, 
And the air is calm in vain ; 
Vainly Morning spreads the lure 



Of a sky serene and pure ; 
Creature none can she decoy 
Into open sign of joy. 
Is it that they have a fear 
Of the dreary season near ? 
Or that other pleasures be 
Sweeter even than gayety ? 

Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell 
In the impenetrable ceU 
Of the sUent heart which Nature 
Furnishes to every creature — 
Whatsoe'er we feel and know 
Too sedate for outward show — 
Such a light of gladness breaks. 
Pretty Kitten ! from thy freaks, — 
Spreads with such a living grace 
O'er my little Dora's face — 
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms 
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, 
That almost I coidd repine 
That your transports are not mine, 
That I do not wholly fare 
Even as ye do, thoughtless pair ! 
And I will have my careless season 
Spite of melancholy reason, 
Will walk through life in such a way 
That, when time brings on decay, 
Now and then I may possess 
Hours of perfect gladsomeuess. 
Pleased by any random toy — 
By a kitten's busy joy. 
Or an infant's laughing eye 
Sharing in the e93tasy — 
I would fiire like that or this, 
Find my wisdom in my bliss, 
Keep the sprightly soul awake. 
And have faculties to take. 
Even from things by soitow wrought, 
Matter for a jocund thought — 
Spite of care, and spite of grief. 
To gambol with Life's falling leaf. 

"William Wokdswoetii. 



THE CHILD IN THE WILDERNESS. 

ExoixcTURED in a twine of leaves — 
That leafy twine his only dress — 

A lovely boy was plucking fruits 
In a moonlight wUderness. 



THE GIPSY' 


S MALISON. 125 


The moon was bright, the air was free, 


Hang, baby, hang ! mother's love loves such 


And fruits and flowers together grew, 


forces ; 


And many a shrub, and many a tree : 


Strain the fond neck that bends still to thy 


And all put on a gentle hue, 


clinging : 


Hanging in the shadowy air 


Black manhood comes, wben violent lawless 


Like a picture rich and rare. 


courses 


It was a climate where they say 


Leave thee a spectacle in rude air swinging." 


The night is more beloved than day. 

But who that beauteous boy beguiled — 
That beauteous boy! — to linger here? 


So sang a withered beldam energetical. 

And banned the ungiving door with lips pro- 


Alone by night, a little child. 
In place so silent and so wild- 
Has he no friend, no loving mother near ? 


phetical. 

Charles Lamb. 




Samuel Tayloe Colekibge. 


TO A CHILD 




■EMBEACrXG HIS MOTHER. 
1. 

LoYE thy mother, little one ! 


OX THE PICTURE OF AN lOTANT 


PLATIXG KEAR A PRECII'ICE. 


Kiss and clasp her neck again, — 


"WniLE on the cliff" with calm delight she 
kneels. 
And the blue vales a thousand joys recall, 


Hereafter she may have a son 
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. 
Love thy mother, little one ! 


See, to tlie last, last verge her infant steals ! 


II. 


Oh fly — yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall. — 


Gaze upon her living eyes. 


Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare. 


And muTor back her love for thee, — 


And the fond boy springs back to nestle there. 


Hereafter thou mayst shudder sigbs 


Leonidas of Alexandria. (Greek.) 
Translation of Samitel Rogers. 


To meet them when they cannot see. 
Gaze upon her living eyes ! 

in. 
Press her lips the while they glow 
With love that they have often told,— 


THE GIPSY'S MALISON. 


" Suck, baby, suck ! mother's love grows by 


Hereafter thou mayst press in woe, 
And kiss them till thine own ai*e cold. 


giving; 
Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by 


Press licr lips the while they glow ! 


wasting : 


IV. 


Black manbood comes, when riotous guilty 


Oh, revere her raven hair ! 


living 


Although it be not silver-gray — 


Hands thee the cup that shall be death in 


Too eai-ly Death, led on by Care, 


tasting. 


May snatch save one dear lock away. 




Oh, revere her raven hair! 


Kiss, baby, kiss ! mother's lips shine by 




kisses ; 


V. 


Choke the warm breath that else vrould fall 


Pray for her at eve and morn. 


in blessings : 


That Heaven may long the stroke defer- 


Black manhood comes, when turbulent guilty 


For thou mayst live the hour forlorn 


blisses ' 


When thou wilt ask to die with her. 


Tend thee the kiss that poisons 'mid caress- 


Pray for her at eve and morn I 


in gs. 


Thomas Hood. 



12G 



POEMS OF CIIILDnOOD. 



TO J. H. 



FOUR YEARS OLD : A NURSERY SONG. 



.... Pisn rramori, 
Pien di canti, e picn di flori. 

Full of little loves of ours, 
Full of songs, and full of flowers. 



Frugoni. 



All, little ranting Johnny, 

For ever blithe and bonny. 

And singing uoany, nonny. 

With hat just thrown upon ye; 

Or whistling like the thrushes, 

With a voice in silver gushes ; 

Or twisting random posies 

With daisies, weeds, and roses ; 

And strutting in and out so. 

Or dancing all about so ; 

With cock-up nose so lightsome, 

And sidelong eyes so brightsome. 

And cheeks as ripe as apples. 

And head as rough as Dapple's, 

And arms as simny shining 

As if their veins they'd wine in. 

And mouth that smiles so truly 

Heaven seems to have made it newly - 

It breaks into such sweetness 

With merry -lipped completeness; 

Ah Jack, ah Gianni mio, 

As blithe as Laughing Trio ! 

— Sir Richard, too, you rattler. 

So christened from the Tattler, 

My Bacchus in his glory. 

My little Cor-di-fiori, 

My tricksome Pack, my Robin, 

Who in and out come bobbing. 

As full of feints and frolics as 

Tliat fibbing rogue Autolycus, 

And play the graceless robber on 

Your grave-eyed brother Oberon, — 

Ah Dick, ah Dolco-riso, 

How can you, can you be so? 

One cannot turn a minute, 

But mischief — there you 're in it : 

A-getting at my books, John, 

With mighty bustling looks, John ; 

Or pokiug at tlie roses, 

In midst of which your nose is; 

Or climbing on a table, 



No matter how unstable. 

And turning up your quaint eye 

And half-shut teeth, with " May n't 1 ?" 

Or else you 're off at play, John, 

Just as you 'd be all day, John, 

With hat or not, as happens ; 

And there you dance, and clap hands. 

Or on the grass go rolling, 

Or plucking flowers, or bowling. 

And getting me expenses 

Witli losing balls o'er fences ; . 

Or, as the constant trade is, 

Are fondled by the ladies 

With " What a young rogue this is!" 

Reforming him with kisses; 

Till suddenly you cry out, 

As if you had an eye out. 

So desperately tearful, 

The sound is really fearful ; 

When lo ! directly after, 

It bubbles into laughter. 

Ah rogue ! and do you know, John, 

Why 'tis we love you so, John? 

And how it is they let ye 

Do what you like and pet ye, 

Though all who look upon ye, 

Exclaim, "Ah, Johnny, Johnny!" 

It is because you please 'em 

Still more, John, than you teaze 'em ; 

Because, too, when not present, 

The thought of you is pleasant ; 

Because, though such an elf, John, 

They think that if yourself, John, 

Had something to condemn too, 

You 'd be as kind to them too ; 

In short, because you 're very 

Good-tempered, Jack, and merry ; 

And are as qiuck at giving 

As easy at recei^4ng ; 

And in the midst of pleasure 

Are certain to find leisure 

To think, my boy, of ours. 

And bring us lumps of flowers. / 

But see, the sun shines brightly ; 
Come, put your hat on rightly. 
And we'll among the bushes. 
And hear your friends, the thrushes ; 
And see what flowers the Aveather 
Has rendered fit to gather ; 



TO A CHILD DURING SICKNESS. 



127 



And, when we home must jog, you 
Shall rido my back, you rogue you, — 
Your hat adorned with fine leaves, 
Horse-chestnut, oak, and vine-leaves, 
And so, with green o'erhead, John, 
Sliall whistle home to bed, John. 

Leigji IlnNT. 



THE FAIRY CHILD, 

The summer sun was sinking 
"With a mild light, calm and mellow ; 

It shone on my little boy's bonny cheeks. 
And his loose locks of yellow. 

The robin was singing sweetly, 
And his song was sad and tender ; 

And my little boy's eyes, while he heard the 
song, 
Smiled with a sweet soft splendor. 

My little boy lay on my bosom 

While his soul the song was quaffing; 

The joy of his soul had tinged his cheek. 
And his heart and his eye were laughing. 

I sate alone in my cottage. 

The midnight needle plying ; 
I feared for my child, for the rush's light 

In the socket now was dying ! 

There came a hand to my lonely latch, 
Like the wind at midnight moaning; 

I knelt to pray, but rose again. 

For I heard my little boy groaning. 

I crossed my brow and I crossed my breast, 
But that night my child departed — 

They left a weakling in his stead, 
And I am broken-hearted ! 

Oil ! it cannot be my own sweet boy, 
For his eyes arc dim and hollow ; 

My little boy is gone — is gone. 
And his mother soon will follow 

The dirge for the dead will be sung for me, 
And the mass be chanted meetly. 

And I shall sleep with my little boy. 
In the moonlight churchyai'd sweetly. 

John Anster. 



TO A CHLLD, DURING SICKNESS. 

Sleep breathes at last from out thee, 

My little patient boy ; 
And balmy rest about thee 
Smooths off the day's annoy. 

I sit me down, and think 
Of all thy winning ways ; 
Yet almost Avish, with sudden shrink. 
That I had less to praise. 

Thy sidelong pillowed meekness. 

Thy thanks to all that aid, 
Thy heart, in pain and weakness, 
Of -fancied faidts afraid ; 

The little trembling hand 
That wipes thy quiet tears : 
These, these are things that may demand 
Dread memories for years. 

Sorrows I 'vc had, severe ones, 

I will not think of now ; 
And calmly, midst my dear ones. 
Have wasted with dry brow ; 
But when thy fingers press 
And pat my stooping head, 
I cannot bear the gentleness — 
The tears are in their bed. 

Ah, first-born of thy mother, 

"When life and hope were new ; 
Kind playmate of thy brothei". 
Thy sister, father too ; 

My light, where'er I go ; 
My bird, w^hen prison-bound ; 
My hand-in-liand companion — No, 
My prayers shall hold thee roimd. 

To say " He has departed " — 

" His voice " — " his face " — is gone, 
To feel impatient-hearted. 

Yet feel wc must bear on — 
Ah, I could not endure 

To whisper of such woe. 
Unless I felt this sleep ensure 

That it wiU not be so. 

Yes, still he 's fixed, and sleeping ! 

This silence too the while — 
Its very hush and creeping 

Seem whispering us a smile ; 



128 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Something divine and dim 
Seems going by one's ear, 
Like parting ^yings of cherubim, 

Who say, " We 've finishe'd here." 

Leigh Hunt. 



TO II. C. 



SIS YEAES OLD. 



O Tnou, whose ftmcies from afar are brought ; 
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel. 
And fittest to unutterable thought 
The breeze-like motion and the self-born 

carol ; 
Thou fairy voyager ! that dost float 
In such clear water, that thy boat 
May rather seem 

To brood on air than on an earthly stream — 
Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, 
Where eai'th and heaven do make one 

imagery ; 

blessed vision ! happy child ! 
Thou art so exquisitely wild, 

1 think of thee with many fears 

For what may be thy lot in future years. 

I thought of times when Pain might be thy 

guest. 
Lord of thy house and hospitality ; 
And Grief, uneasy lover, never rest 
But when she sat within the touch of thee. 
too industrious folly ! 
O vain and causeless melancholy ! 
Nature will either end thee quite ; 
Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, 
Preserve for thee, by individual right, 
A young lamb's heart among the full-grown 

flocks. 
What hast thou to do with sorrow, 
Or the injuries of to-morrow ? 
Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings 

forth, 
m fitted to sustain unkindly shocks. 
Or to be trailed along the soiling earth ; 
A gem that glitters while it lives. 
And no forewarning gives, 
But, at the touch of wrongs, without a strife, 
Shps in a moment out of life. 

■WlLUAM WOEDSTVORin. 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 

Art thou a thing of mortal birth, 
Whose happy home is on our earth? 
Does human blood with life imbue 
Those wandering veins of heavenly blue. 
That stray along that forehead fair, 
Lost mid a gleam of golden hair ? 
Oh! can that light and aii'y breath 
Steal from a being doomed to death ; 
Those features to the grave be sent 
In sleep thus mutely eloquent ; 
Or, art thou, what thy form would seem, 
A phantom of a blessed dream ? 

A human shape I feel thou art — 
I feel it at my beating heart, 
Those tremors both of soul and sense 
Awoke by infant innocence! 
Though dear the forms by Fancy wove. 
We love them with a transient love; 
Thoughts from the living world intrude 
Even on her deepest solitude : 
But, lovely child ! thy magic stole 
At once into my inmost soul. 
With feelings as thy beauty fair, 
And left no other vision there. 

To me thy parents are unknown ; 
Glad would they be their child to own ! 
And well they must have loved before, 
If since thy birth they loved not more. 
Thou art a branch of noble stem, 
And, seeing thee, I figure them. 
What many a childless one would give, 
If thou in their still home woiddst live ! 
Though in thy face no family line 
Might sweetly say, " This babe is mine ! " 
In time thou wouldst become the same 
As their own child, — all but the name. 

How happy must thy parents be 
Who daily live in sight of thee ! 
Whose hearts no greater pleasure seek 
Than see thee smile, and hear thee speak. 
And feel all natural griefs beguiled 
By thee, their fond, their duteous child. 
What joy must in their souls have stirred 
When thy first broken words were heard — 
Words, that, inspired by Heaven, expressed 
The transports dancing in thy breast! 
And for thy smile ! — thy lip, cheek, brow. 
Even while I gaze, arc kindling now. 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 



129 



I called tlioe duteous; am I wrong? 
No ! tnitli, I feel, is in my song: 
Duteous, thy heart's still beatings move 
To God, to Nature, and to love ! 
To God! — for thou, a harmless child, 
Ilast kept his temple undefiled ; 
To Nature ! — for thy tears and sighs 
Obey alone her mysteries ; 
To love I — for fiends of hate might see 
Thou dwell'st in love, and love in thee. 
What Tv'onder then, tliough in thy dreams 
Thy face with mystic meaning beams ! 

Oh ! that my spirit's eye coidd see 
Whence burst those gleams of ecstasy ! 
That light of dreaming soul appears 
To play from thoughts above thy years ; 
Thou smilest as if thy soul were soaring 
To heaven, and heaven's God adoring. 
And who can tell what visions high 
May bless an infant's sleeping eye ? 
What brighter throne can brightness find 
To reign on, than an infant's mind. 
Ere sin destroy, or error dim, 
The glory of the seraphim ? 

But now thy changing smiles express 
Intelligible happiness. 
I feel my soul thy soul partalce. 
What grief, if thou wouldst now awake! 
With infants happy as thyself 
I sec thee bound, a playful elf; 
I see thou art a darling child. 
Among thy playmates bold and wild ; 
They love thee well ; thou art the queen 
Of all their sports, in bower or green ; 
And if thou livest to woman's height, 
In thee will friendship, love, delight. 

And live thou surely must ; thy life 
Is far too spiritual for the strife 
Of mortal pain ; nor could disease 
Find heart to prey on smiles like these. 
Oh ! thou wilt be an angel brigh.t — 
To those thou lovest, a saving light — 
The staff of age, the help sublime 
Of erring youth, and stubborn prime ; 
And when thou goest to heaven again. 
Thy vanishing be like the strain 
Of airy harp — so soft the tone 
The ear scarce knows when it is gone ! 

Thrice blessed he whose stai's design 
Ilis spirit pure to lean on thine. 
And watchful share, for days and years, 
21 



Thy sorrows, joys, sighs, smiles, and icars I 

For good and guiltless as thou art. 

Some transient griefs will touch thy heart — 

Griefs that along thy altered face 

Will breathe a more subduing grace 

Than even those looks of joy that lie 

On the soft cheek of infancy. 

Though looks, God knows, are cradled there 

That guilt might cleanse, or soothe despair. 

vision fair ! that I could be 
Again as young, as pure, as thee ! 
Vain wish ! the rainbow's radiant form 
May view, but cannot brave, the storm ; 
Years can bedim the gorgeous dyes 
That paint the bird of Paradise ; 
And years, so Fate hath ordered, roll 
Clouds o'er the summer of the soul. 
Yet, sometimes, sudden sights of grace, 
Such as the gladness of thy face, 
O sinless babe, by God are given 
To charm the wanderer back to heaven. 

No common impulse hath me led 
To this green spot, thy quiet bed, 
Where, by mere gladness overcome, 
In sleep thou dreamest of thy home. 
When to the lake I would have gone, 
A wondrous beauty drew me on — 
Such beauty as the spirit sees 
In glittering fields and moveless trees, 
After a warm and silent shower 
Ere falls on earth the twilight hour. 
What led me hither, all can say 
Who, knowing God, his will obey. 

Thy slumbers now cannot be long ; 
Thy little dreams become too strong 
For sleep — too like reJilities ; 
Soon shall I see those hidden eyes. 
Thou wakest, and starting from the ground, 
In dear amazement look'st around ; 
Like one who, little given to roam, 
Wonders to find herself from home ! 
But wlien a stranger meets thy view, 
Glistens thine eye with wilder hue. 
A moment's thought who I may be. 
Blends Avitli thy smiles of courtesy. 

Fair was that face as break of dawn. 
When o'er its beauty sleep was drawn, 
Like a thin veil that half concealed 
The light of soul, and half revealed. 
While thy hushed heart with visions wrought 
Each trembling eye-lash moved with thought; 



130 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD, 



And things we dream, but ne'er can speak, 

Like clouds came floating o'er thy cheek — 

Such summer-clouds as travel light, 

When the soul's heaven lies calm and bright — 

Till thou awokest ; then to thine eye 

Thy whole heart leapt in ecstasy ! 

And lovely is that heai't of thine, 

Or sure those eyes could never shine 

With such a wild, yet bashful glee, 

Gay, half-o'ercome timidity ! 

Natiu'e has breathed into thy face 

A spirit of imconscious grace — 

A spirit that lies never still. 

And makes thee joyous 'gainst thy will : 

As, sometimes o'er a sleeping lake 

Soft airs a gentle rippling make. 

Till, ere we know, the strangers fly, 

And water blends again with sky. 

O happy sprite ! didst thou but know 
Wliat pleasures through my being flow 
From thy soft eyes ! a holier feeling 
From their blue light could ne'er be stealing ; 
But thou wouldst be more loth to part. 
And give me more of that glad heart. 
Oh ! gone thou art ! and bearest hence 
The glory of thy innocence. 
But with deep joy I breathe the air 
That kissed thy cheek, and fanned thy hair, 
And feel, though fate our lives must sever. 
Yet shall thy image live for ever ! 

John Wilson. 



OHILDEEN. 

Children are what the mothers are. 
No fondest father's fondest care 
Can fashion so the infant heart 
As those creative beams that dart. 
With all their hopes and fears, upon 
The cradle, of a sleeping son. 

His startled eyes with wonder see 
A father near him on his knee. 
Who wishes all the while to trace 
The mother in his futureface ; 
But 't is to her alone upi'ise 
His' wakening arms; to her those eyes 
Open with joy and not surprise. 

"Waltek Savage Landok. 



TO A CHILD. 

Dear child ! whom sleep can hardly tame. 
As live and beautiful as flame, 
Thou glancest round my graver hours 
As if thy crown of wild-wood flowers 
Were not by mortal forehead worn, 
But on the summer breeze were borne. 
Or on a mountain streamlet's waves 
Came glistening down from dreamy caves. 

With bright round cheek, amid whose glow 
Delight and wonder come and go ; 
And eyes whose inward meanings play, 
Congenial with the light of day ; 
And brow so calm, a home for Thought 
Before he knows his dwelling wi'ought ; 
Though wise indeed thou seemest not, 
Thou brightenest well the wise man's lot. 

That shout proclaims the undoubting mind ; 
That laughter leaves no ache behind ; 
And in thy look and dance of glee. 
Unforced, unthought of, simply free, 
How weak the schoolman's formal art 
Thy soul and body's bliss to part ! 
I hail thee Childhood's very Lord, 
In gaze and glance, in voice and word. 

In spite of all foreboding feai*, 

A thing thou art of present cheer ; 

And thus to be beloved and known, 

As is a rushy fountain's tone, 

As is the forest's leafy shade. 

Or blackbird's hidden serenade. 

Thou art a flash that lights the whole — 

A gush from Nature's vernal soul. 

And yet, dear child! within thee lives 
A power that deeper feeling gives, 
That makes tliee more than light or air, 
Than all things sweet and all things fair ; 
And sweet and fair as aught may be, 
Diviner life belongs to thee. 
For 'mid thine aimless joys began 
The perfect heart and will of Man. 

Thus what thou art foreshows to me 
How greater far thou sOon shalt be ; 



THE MOTHER'S HOPE. 



131 



And Avhllc amid thy garlands blow 
The winds that warbling come and go, 
Y.W'V within, not loud but clear, 
Prophetic murmur fills the ear, 
And says that every human birth 
Anew discloses God to earth. 

John Steeling. 



THE MOTHER'S HOPE. 

Is there, when the winds are singing 

In the happy summer time — 
"When the raptured air is ringing 
With Earth's music heavenward springing, 

Forest chirp, and village chime — 
Is thei'e, of the sounds that float 
Cnsighingly, a single note 
Halt' so sweet, and clear, and wild. 
As the laughter of a child ? 

L's'on! and be now delighted : 
Morn hath touched her golden strings ; 

Earth and Sky their vows have plighted ; 

Life and Light are reunited. 
Amid countless carollings ; 

Yet, delicious as they are, 

There 's a sound that 's sweeter far — 

One that makes the heart rejoice 

More than all, — the human voice! 

Orpran finer, deeper, clearer. 
Though it be a stranger's tone — 
Than the winds or waters dearer, 
More enchanting to the hearer. 
For it answereth to his own. 
But, of all its witching words, 
Tiiose are sweetest, bubbling wild 
Througli the laughter of a child. 

nannonies from time-touched towers. 

Haunted strains from rivulets. 
Hum of bees among the flowers. 
Rustling leaves, and silver showers, — 

These, ere long, the ear forgets ; 
But in mine there is a sound 
Ringing on the whole year round — 
Heart-deep laughter that I heard 
Ere my child could speak a word. 



Ah ! 't was heard by ear far purer, 
Fondlier formed to catch the strain — 

Ear of one whose love is surer — 

Hers, tlie mother, the endurer 
Of the deepest share of pain ; 

Hers the deepest bliss to ti-easure 

Memories of that cry of pleasure ; 

Hers to hoard, a life-time after, 

Echoes of that infant laughter. 

'T is a mother's large affection 
Hears with a mysterious sense — 

Breathings that evade detection. 

Whisper faint, and fine mJlexion, 
ThriU in her with power intense. 

Childhood's honeyed words untaught 

Hiveth she in loving thought — 

Tones that never then(.e depart ; 

For she listens — with her heart. 

Laman Blanchaed. 



TILE MOTHER'S HEART. 

When- first thou camest, gentle, shy, and 
fond, 
My eldest born, first hope, and dearest 
treasure, 
My heart received thee with a joy beyond 

All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure ; 
iSTor thought that any love again might be 
So deep and strong as that I felt for thee. 



Faithful and true, with seuse beyond thy 
years. 
And natural piety that leaned to heaven ; 
Wrung by a harsh word suddenly to tears, 

Yet patient to rebuke when justly given — 
Obedient — easy to be reconciled — 
And meekly cheerful; such wert thou, my 
child ! 



TSTot willing to be left — still by my side, 
Hauntmg my walks, while summer-day 
was dying ; 



132 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 


Nor leaving in thy tin-n, but pleased to glide 


At length Tnou camest — thou, the last and 


Through the dark room where I was sadly 


least. 


lying ; 


Nick-named "the Emperor " by thy laugh- 


Or by the couch of pain, a sitter meek, 


ing brothers — 


Watch the dim eye, and kiss the levered 


Because a haughty spirit swelled thy breast, 


cheek. 


And thou didst seek to rule and sway thp 




others — 




Mingling with every playful infant wile 


boy ! of such as thou are oftenest made 


A mimic majesty that made us smile. 


Earth's fragile idols ; like a tender flower. 




■N"o strength in all thy freshness, prone to 




fade. 


And oh ! most like a regal child wert thou ! 


And bending weakly to the thunder- 


An eye of resolute and successful scheming ! 


shower ; 


Fair shoulders — curling lips — and dauntless 


Still, round the loved, thy heart found force 


brow — 


to bind. 


Fit for the world's strife, not for poet's 


And clung, like woodbine shaken in the 


dreaming ; 


wind ! 


And proud the lifting of thy stately head. 




And the firm bearing of thy conscious tread. 


Then tiiou, my merry love — bold in thy glee, 




Under the bough, or by the firelight danc- 


Different from both! yet each succeeding 


ing, 


claim 


With tjiy sAveet temper, and thy spirit free — 


I, that all other love had been forswearing. 


Didst come, as restless as a bird's wing 


Forthwith admitted, equal and the same ; 


glancing, 


Nor injiu-ed either by this love's comparing 


Full of a wild and irrepressible mirth, 


Nor stole a fraction for the newer call — 


Like a young sunbeam to the gladdened earth ! 


But in the mother's heart found room for all ! 




Caroline Koeton. 


Thine was the shout, the song, the burst of 
joy, 
Which sweet from childhood's rosy lip re- 






sou ndeth ; 


TO GEOEGE M 


Thine was the eager spirit naught could cloy. 




And the glad heart from which all grief 


Yes, I do love thee well, my child ! 


reboundeth; 


Albeit mine 's a wandering mind ; 


And many a mirthfid jest and mock reply 


But never, darling, hast thou smiled 


Lurked in the laughter of thy dark-blue eye. 


Or breathed a wish that did not find 




A ready echo in my heart. 




What hours I 've held thee on my knee, 


And thine was many an art to win and bless, 


Thy little rosy lips apart ! 


The cold and stern to joy and fondness 


Or, when asleep, I 've gazed on thee 


warming ; 


And with old tunes sung thee to rest, 


The coaxing smile— the frequent soft caress— 


Hugging thee closely to my bosom ; 


The earnest tearful prayer all wrath dis- 


For thee my very heart hath blest. 


arming ! 


My joy, my care, my blue-eyed blossom! 


Again my heart a new affection found. 


Thomas Millee. 


But thought that love with thee had reached 
its bound. 







MOTHER'S LOVE. 



133 



MOTHER'S LOVE. 

He sang so wildly, did the boy, 

That you could never tell 

If 'twas a madman's voice you heard, 

Or if the spirit of a bird 

"Within his heart did dwell — 

A bird that dallies with his voice 

Among the matted branches ; 

Or on the free blue air his note. 

To pierce, and fall, and rise, and float, 

"With bolder utterance laimches. 

None ever was so sweet as he. 

The boy that wildly sang to me ; 

Though toilsome was the way and long. 

He led mo, not to lose the song. 

But when again we stood below 

The unhidden sky, his feet 

Grew slacker, and his note more slow. 

But more than doubly sweet. 

He led me then a little way 

Athwart the barren moor, 

And there he stayed, and bade me stay. 

Beside a cottage door ; 

I could have stayed of my own will. 

In truth, my eye and heart to fill 

"With the sweet sight which I saw there, 

At the dwelling of the cottager. 

A little in the doorway sitting, 

The mother plied her busy knitting ; 

And her cheek so softly smiled. 

You might be sure, although her gaze 

"Was on the meshes of the lace. 

Yet her thoughts were with her child. 

But when the boy had heard her voice. 
As o'er her work she did rejoice. 
His became sUent altogether; 
And slyly creeping by the wall, 
He seized a single plume, let fidl 
By some wUd bird of longest feather ; 
And aU a-tremble with his freak, 
He touched her lightly on the cheek. 

Oh what a loveliness her eyes 
Gather in that one moment's space, 



"While peeping round the post she spies 
Her darUng's laughing face I 
Oh mother's love is glorifying. 
On the cheek like sunset lying ; 
In the eyes a moistened light. 
Softer than the moon at night ! 

TnOMAS BtJRBIDOE. 



THE PET LAMB. 



A PASTOEAL. 



The dew was falling fast, the stars began to 

blink ; 
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty 

creature, drink ! " 
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I 

espied 
A snow-white mountain-lamb with a maiden 

at its side. 



Nor sheep nor kine were neai" ; the lamb was 

all alone. 
And by a slender cord was tethered to a 

stone ; 
"With one knee on the grass did the little 

maiden kneel, 
"While to that mountain-lamb she gave its 

evening meal. 



The lamb, while from her hand he thus his 

supper took. 
Seemed to feast with head and ears ; and his 

tail with pleasure shook. 
"Drink, pretty creature, drink!" she said, 

in such a tone 
That I almost received her heart into my own. 

'T was little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of 

beauty rare ! 
I watched them with delight: they were a 

lovely pair. 
Now with her empty can the maiden tm'ued 

away ; 
But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps 

did she stay. 



134 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Right tow.irds the lamb she looked; and 
from a sliady place 

I unobserved could see the workings of her 
face. 

If nature to her tongue could measured num- 
bers hi'ing, 

Tlius, thought I, to her lamb that little maid 
might sing: — 

" AVhat ails thee, young one ? what ? "Why 

pull so at thy cord ? 
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed 

and board ? 
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass 

can be ; 
Rest, little young one, rest ; what is 't that 

aileth thee ? 



" What is it thou wouldst seek ? What is 

wanting to thy heart? 
Tliy limbs, are they not strong ? And beau- 

tilul thou art. 
This grass is tender grass ; these flowers they 

have no peers ; 
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy 

ears ! 



"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch 

thy woollen chain — 
This beech is standing by, its covert thou 

canst gain ; 
For rain and mountain-storms — the like thou 

need'st not fear ; 
The rain and storm are things that scarcely 

can come here. 



" Rest, little young one, rest ; thou hast forgot 

the day 
When my father found thee first in places far 

away; 
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert 

owned by none. 
And thy mother from thy side for evermore 

was gone. 



' lie took thee in his arms, and in pity 
brought thee home : 



A blessed day for thee ! Then whither wouldst 

thou roam ? 
A faithful nurse thou hast — the dam that did 

thee yean 
Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could 

have been. 



"Thou know'st that twice a day I have 

brought thee in this can 
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever 

ran; 
And twice in the day, when the ground is 

wet with dew, 
I bring thee draughts of milk — warm milk it 

is, and new. 



" Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as 

they are now ; 
Then I 'U yoke thee to my cart like a pony 

in the plough. 
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the 

wind is cold, 
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall 

be thy fold. 



"It will not, will not rest! — Poor creature, 
can it be 

That 't is thy mother's heart which is work- 
ing so in thee ? 

Things that I know not of belike to thee are 
dear, 

And dreams of things which thou canst nei- 
ther see nor hear. 



" Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green 

and fair ! 
I 've heard of fearful winds and darkness that 

come there ; 
The little brooks, that seem all pastime and 

all play, 
When they are angry roar like lions for their 

prey. 

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in 

the sky ; 
Night and day thou art safe — our cottage is 

hard bv. 



TO MY DAUGHTER. 



135 



Why bleat so after me ? Wliy pull so at thy 

cliaia ? 
Sleep — and at break of day I will come to 

theo affain! " 



— As homeward through the lane I went with 

lazy feet, 
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat ; 
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line 

by line. 
That but half of it was hers, and one-half of 

it was mine. 



Again and once again, did I repeat the song ; 

" Nay," said I, " more than half to the dam- 
sel must belong, 

For she looked with such a look, and she 
spake with such a tone, 

That I almost received her heart into my 
own." 

William Woedswokth. 



TO MY DAUGHTER, 



ON HER BIRTHDAY. 



Dear Fanny ! nine long years ago. 
While yet the morning snn was low, 
And rosy with the eastern glow 

The landscape smiled ; 
Wliilst lowed the newly-wakened herds- 
Sweet as the early song of birds, 
I heard those first, delightful words, 

" Thou hast a child ! " 



Along with that nprising dew 

Tears p;listened in my eyes, though few. 

To hail a dawning quite as new 

To me, as Time : 
It was not sorrow — not annoy — 
But like a happy maid, though coy, 
Witli grief-like welcome, even Joy 

Forestalls its prime. 



So may'st thou live, dear ! many years, 

In aU the bliss that life endears, 

Not without smiles, nor yet from tears, 

Too strictly kept. 

When first thy infant littleness 

I folded in my fond caress, 

The greatest proof of happiness 

Was this — I wept. 

Thomas Hood. 



LITTLE CHILDREN. 

Sporting through the forest wide ; 
Playing by the waterside ; 
Wandering o'er the heathy fells ; 
Down within the woodland dells ; 
All among the mountains wild, 
Dwelleth many a little child ! 
In the baron's hall of pride; 
By the poor man's dull fireside : 
'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean. 
Little children may be seen, 
Like the flowers that spring up lair. 
Bright and countless everywhere! 
In the far isles of the main ; 
In the desert's lone domain ; 
In the savage mountain-glen, 
'Mong the tribes of swarthy men ; 
Wheresoe'er a foot hath gone ; 
Wheresoe'er the sun hath shone 
On a league of peopled ground. 
Little children may be found ! 
Blessings on them ! they in me 
Move a kindly sympathy, 
With their wishes, hopes, and fears; 
With their laughter and their tears; 
With their wonder so intense. 
And their small experience ! 
Little children, not alone 
On the wide earth are ye known, 
'Mid its labors and its cares, 
'Mid its sufferings and its snares; 
Free from sorrow, free from strife. 
In the world of love and life, 
Where no sinful thing hath trod — 
In the presence of your God, 
Spotless, blameless, glorified — 
Little children, ye abide ! 



.J 



1 



136 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



THE IDLE SHEPHERD BOYS. 

A PASTOEAL. 

The valley rings with mirth aud joy; 

Among the hills the echoes play 

A. never, never-ending song, 

To welcome in the May. 

The magpie chatters with delight ; 

The mountain raven's youngling brood 

Have left the mother and the nest ; 

And they go rambling east and west 

In search of their own food ; 

Or through the glittering vapors dart 

In very wantonness of heart. 

Beneath a rock, upon the grass. 
Two boys are sitting in the sun ; 
Their work, if any work they have, 
Is out of mind, — or done. 
On pipes of sycamore they play 
The fragments of a Christian hymn ; 
Or with that plant which in our dale 
"We call stag-horn, or fox's tail. 
Their rusty hats they trim : 
Aud thus, as happy as the day. 
Those shepherds wear the time away. 

Along the river's stony marge 

The sand-lark chants a joyous song; 

The thrush is busy in the wood. 

And carols loud and strong. 

A thousand lambs are on the rocks, 

All newly born ! both earth and sky 

Keep jubilee, and more than all, 

Those boys with their green coronal ; 

They never hear the cry, 

That plaintive cry ! which up the hiL 

Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll. 

Said Walter, leaping from the ground, 
" Down to the stump of yon old yew 
We'll for our whistles run a race." 

Away the shepherds flew ; 

They leapt- — they ran — and when they came 
Eight opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, 
Seeing that he should lose the prize, 
" Stop ! " to his comrade Walter cries. 
James stopped with no good will. 
Said Walter then, exulting, "Here 
You'll find a task for half a year. 



" Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross,— 

Come on, and tread where I shall tread " 

The other took him at his word. 

And followed as he led. 

It was a spot Avhich you may see 

If ever you to Langdale go ; 

Into the chasm a mighty block 

Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock : 

The gulf is deep below ; 

And, in a basin black and small. 

Receives a lofty waterfall. 

With staff in hand across the cleft 

The challenger pursued his march ; 

And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained 

The middle of the arch. 

When list ! he hears a piteous moan. 

Again ! — his heart within him dies ; 

His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost. 

He totters, pallid as a ghost. 

And, looking down, espies 

A lamb, that in the pool is pent 

Within that black and frightful rent. 

The lamb had slipped into the stream. 

And safe without a bruise or wound 

The cataract had borne him down 

Into the gulf profound. 

His dam had seen him when he fell — 

She saw him down the torrent borne ; 

And, with all a motlier's love. 

She from the lofty rocks above 

Sent forth a cry forlorn ; 

The lamb, still swimming round and round 

Made answer in that jjlaintive sound. 

AVhen he had learnt what thing it was 

That sent this rueful cry, I ween 

The boy recovered heart, and told 

The sight which he had seen. 

Both gladly now deferred their task ; 

Nor was there wanting other aid : 

A Poet, one who loves the brooks 

Far better than the sages' books. 

By chance had hitlier strayed ; 

And there the helpless lamb he found 

By those huge rocks encompassed round. 

He drew it from the troubled pool, 
And brought it forth into the light ; 
Tlie shepherds met him with his charge, 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 



IS*? 



An unexpected sight ! 

Into tlieir arms the lamb they took, 

Whose life and limbs the flood had spared ; 

Then up the steep ascent they hied, 

And placed him at his mother's side ; 

And gently did the Bard 

Those idle shepherd boys upbraid, 

And bade them better mind tlieir trade. 

William Wordswortu. 



THE SHEPHERD BOY. 

Like some vision olden 

Of far other time, 
AVhen the age was golden, 

In the young world's prime, 
Is thy soft pipe ringing, 

O lonely shepherd boy : 
What song art thou singing, 

In thy youth and joy ? 

Or art thou complaining 

Of thy lowly lot, 
And thine own disdaining. 

Dost ask what thou hast not? 
Of the future dreaming. 

Weary of the past, 
For the present scheming — 

All but what thou hast. 

No, thou art delighting 

In thy Slimmer home ; 
Where the flowers inviting 

Tempt the bee to roam ; 
Where the cowslip, beading 

With its golden bells. 
Of each glad hour's ending 

With a sweet chime tells. 

All wild creatures love him 

When he is alone ; 
Every bird above him 

Sings its softest tone. 
Thankful to high Heaven, 

Humble in thy joy. 
Much to thee is given. 

Lowly shepherd boy. 



90 



L^TiTiA Elizabeth Landon'. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 

Whe^ the corn-fields and meadow." 
A.re pearled with the dew. 

With the first sunny shadow 
Walks little Boy Blue. 

Oh the Nymphs and the Graces 

Still gleam on his eyes. 
And the kind fairy faces 

Look down from the skies ; 

And a secret revealing 

Of life within life. 
When feeling meets feeling 

In musical strife ; 

A winding and weaving 

In flowers and in trees, 
A floating and heaving 

In sunlight and breeze ; 

A striving and soaring, 

A gladness and grace. 
Make him kneel half adoring 

The God in the place. 

Then amid the live shadows 

Of lambs at their play. 
Where the kiue scent the meadows 

With breath like tlic May, 

He stands in the splendor 

That waits on tlie morn, 
And a music more tender 

Distils from his horn ; 

And he weeps, he rejoices. 

He prays ; nor in vain. 
For soft loving voices 

Will answer again ; 

And the Nymphs and the Graces 
Still gleam through the dew, 

And kind fairy faces 
Watch little Boy Blue. 

ASOKTMOrS. 



1 



138 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 

Come back, come back together, 

All ye fancies of the past. 
Ye days of April -n-eatlier. 

Ye shadoAvs that are cast 
By the haunted hours before ! 
Come back, come back, my Childhood ; 

Thou art summoned by a spell 
From the green leaves of the wildwood, 

Erom beside the charmed well, 

For Red Riding Hood, the darling. 
The flower of fairy lore ! 

The fields were covered over 

With colors as she went ; 
Daisy, buttercup, and clover 

Below her footsteps bent ; 

Summer shed its shining store ; 
She was happy as she pressed them 

Beneath her little feet ; 
She plucked them and caressed them ; 

They were so very sweet. 

They had never seemed so sweet before. 
To Red Riding Hood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore. 

IIow the heart of childhood dances 

Upon a sunny day ! 
It has its own romances. 

And a wide, Avide world have they ! 
A world where Phantasie is king. 
Made all of eager dreaming ; 

"When once grown up and tall — 
Now is the time for scheming — 
Then we shall do them all ! 

Do such pleasant fancies spring 
For Red Riding Ilood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore ? 

She seems like an ideal love. 
The poetry of childhood shown. 

And yet loved with a real love. 
As if she were our own — 

A younger sister for the heart ; 

Like the woodland pheasant, 
Her hair is brown and bright ; 

And her smile is pleasant. 



AVith its rosy light. 
Kever can the memory part 
With Red Riding Hood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore. 

Did the painter, dreaming 

In a morning hour. 

Catch the fairy seeming 

Of this fairy flower ? 

Winning it with eager eyes 
Erom the old enchanted stories, 
Lingering with a long delight 
On the unforgotten glories 
Of the infant sight ? 

Giving us a sweet siu'prise 
In Red Riding Hood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore ? 

Too long in the meadow staying, 

Where the cowslip bends, 
With the buttercups delaying 
As with early friends. 

Did the little maiden stay. 
Sorrowful the tale for us ; 

We, too, loiter mid life's flowers, 
A little while so glorious, 
So soon lost in darker hours. 

All love lingering on their way. 
Like Red Riding Hood, the darling. 
The flower of fairy lore. 

• L^TiTiA Elizabeth Landox. 



THE GAMBOLS OF CHILDREN. 

Down the dimpled green-sward dancing, 
Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy — 

Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing. 
Love's irregular little levy. 

Rows of liquid eyes in laughter, 

How they glimmer, how they quiver I 

Sparkling one another after. 
Like bright ripples on a river. 

Tipsy band of rubious faces, 

Flushed with Joy's ethereal spirit, 

Make your mocks and sly grimaces 
At Love's self, and do not fear it. 

Gbohoe Parley 



THE PIED riPER OF IIAMELIN. 



139 



THE TIED PIPER OF IIAMELIN. 

I. 

IIameijn Town 's in Brunswick, 
[>y Ihmoiis Hanover city ; 

The river Weser, deep and wide, 

Washes its wall on the southern side ; 

A pleusanter spot you never spied ; 
But when begins my ditty, 

Ahnost five hundred years ago. 

To see the townsfolk sufter so 
From vermin, was a pity. 

II. 
Eats ! 
They fought the dogs, and killed the cats. 

And bit the babies in the cradles, 
And ate the cheeses out of the vats. 

And licked the soup from the cook's own 
ladles. 
Split open the kegs of salted sprats. 
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats. 
And even spoiled the women's chats, 
By drowning their speaking 
With shrieking and squeaking 
In fifty ditFerent sharps and flats. 

III. 
At last the people in a body 

To the Town Hall came flocking : 
" 'T is clear," cried they, " our Mayor's a 
noddy ; 

And as for our Corporation — shocking 
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 
For dolts that can't oi* "won't determine 
What's best to rid us of our vermin ! 
You hope, because you 're old and obese, 
To find in the furry civic robe ease ? 
Pousc up, Sirs ! Give your brains a racking 
To find the remedy we 're lacking, 
Or, sure as fate, we '11 send you packing ! " 
At this the Mayor and Corporation 
Ouaked with a mighty consternation. 

IV. 

An hour they sate in counsel — 
At length the Mayor broke silence : 

" For a guilder I 'd my ermine gown sell ; 
I wish I were a mile hence ! 

It's easy to bid one rack one's brain — 

I'm sure my poor head aches again. 



I 've scratched it so, and all in vahi. 

Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap ! " 

Just as he said this, what should hap 

At the chamber door but a gentle tap ? 

" Bless us," cried the Mayor, " what's that? " 

(With the Corporation as he sat. 

Looking little though wondrous fat ; 

Nor brighter was bis eye, nor moister 

Than a too-long-opened oyster. 

Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous 

For a plate of turtle, green and glutinous,) 

" Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? 

Anything like the sound of a rat 

Makes my heart go pit-a-pat ! " 



"Come in!" — the Mayor cried, looking 

bigger ; 
And in did come the strangest figure : 
His queer long coat from heel to head 
Was half of yellow and half of red ; 
And he himself was tail and thin ; 
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin ; 
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin ; 
No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin. 
But lips where smiles went out and in — 
There was no guessing his kith and kin ! 
And nobody could enough admire 
The tall man and his quaint attire. 
Quoth one : " It 's as my great-grandsire, 
Starting up at the trump of doom's tone. 
Had walked this way from his painted tomb- 
stone ! " 



He advanced to the council-table : 

And, " Please your honours," said he, "I'm 

able. 
By means of a secret charm, to draw 
All creatures living beneath the sun, 
That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, 
After me so as you never saw ! 
And I chiefly use my charm 
On creatures that do people harm — 
The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper — 
And people call me the Pied Piper." 
(And here they noticed round his neck 
A scarf of red and yellow stripe. 
To match with his coat of the self same 

check ; 
And at the scarf's end hung a pipe ; 



1 



140 



rOEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



i^nd his fingers, they noticed, were ever 

straying 
As if impatient to he phiying 
Upon this pipe, as low it dangled 
Over his vesture so old-fangled.) 

Yet," said he, " poor piper as I am. 
In Tartary I freed the Cham, 
Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats ; 
I eased in Asia the Nizam 
Of a monstrous hrood of vampire-hats ; 
And, as for what your hrain bewilders — 
If I can rid your town of rats. 
Will you give me a thousand guilders ? " 
"One? fifty thousand!" — was the exclamation 
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation, 



Into the street the Piper slept. 

Smiling first a little smile, 
As if he knew what magic slept 

In his quiet pipe the while ; 
Then, like a musical adept. 
To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, 
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled. 
Like a candle flame Avhere salt is sprinkled ; 
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered. 
You heard as if an army muttered ; 
And the muttering grew to a grumbling ; 
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rum- 
bling ; 
And out of the houses the rats came tum- 
bling. 
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats. 
Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, 
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, 

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, 
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers ; 

Families by tens and dozens. 
Brother!?, sisters, husbands, wives — 
Followed the Piper for their lives. 
From street to street he piped advancing. 
And step for step they followed dancing, 
Until tliey came to the river AYeser 
Wherein all plunged and perished 
— Save one who, stout as Julius Cassar, 
Swam across and lived to carry 
(x\3 he the manuscript he cherished) 
To Rat-land home liis commentary, 
Which was : " At the first shrill notes of the 

pipe, 
I heard a sound as of scraping ■i^ripe. 



And putting apples, wondrous ripe. 

Into a cider-press's gripe — 

And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, 

And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards. 

And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, 

And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks ; 

And it seemed as if a voice 

(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery 

Is breathed) called out, O rats, rejoice ! 

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery I 

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, 

Bi-eakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon ! 

And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon. 

All ready staved, like a great sun shone 

Glorious, scarce an inch before me. 

Just as methought it said. Come, bore me ! 

— I found the Weser rolling o'er me." 



You should have heard the Hamelin people 
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple ; 
" Go," cried the Mayor, " and get long poles ! 
Poke out the nests and block up the holes ! 
Consult with carpenters and builders, 
And leave in our town not even a trace 
Of the rats ! " — when suddenly, up the face 
Of the Piper perked in the market-place, 
With a, " First, if you please, my thousand 
guilders ! " 



A thonsand guilders ! The Mayor looked 

blue : 
So did the Corporation too. 
For council dinners made rare havock 
With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Ilock ; 
And half the money would replenish 
Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. 
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow 
With a gipsy coat of red and yellow ! 
" Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing 

wink, 
" Our business was done at the river's brink ; 
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink. 
And what's dead can't come to life, I think. 
So, friend, we 're not the folks to shrink 
From the duty of giving you something for 

drink. 
And a matter of money to put in your poke ; 
But, as for the guilders, what we spoke 
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 



141 



Beside, our losses have made us thrifty ; 
iV thousand guilders ! Come, take fifty ! " 



The piper's face fell, and he cried, 

" No trifling ! I can't wait ! beside, 

I 've promised to visit by dinner time 

15agdat, and accept the prime 

Of the head cook's pottage, all he 's rich in, 

For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen. 

Of a nest of scorpion's no survivor — 

With him I proved no bargain-driver; 

With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver ! 

And folks who put me in a passion 

May find me pipe to another fashion." 



"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'j-e think I'll 

brook 
Being worse treated than a cook ? 
Insulted by a lazy ribald 
With idle pipe and vesture piebald ? 
You tlireaten us, fellow ? Do your worst. 
Blow your pipe there till you burst ! " 



Once more he stept into the street ; 
And to his lips again 

Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane ; 
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet 

Soft notes as yet musician's cunning 
Never gave the enraptured air) 

There was a rustling that seemed like a bus- 
tling 

Of merry crowds justling at pitching and 
hustling ; 

Small feet Avere pattering, wooden shoes 
clattering. 

Little hands clapping, and little tongues 
chattering; 

.\nd, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley 
is scattering. 

Out came the children running : 

All the little boys and girls. 

With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls. 

And sparkling eyes and teetli like pearls. 

Tripping and skipping, i*an merrily after 

The wonderful music with shouting and 
laughter. 



The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood 
As if they were changed into blocks of wood. 
Unable to move a step, or cry 
To the children merrily skipping by — 
And could only follow with the eye 
Tliat joyous crowd at the Piper's back. 
But how the Mayor was on the rack. 
And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, 
As the Piper turned from the High Street 
To where the Weser rolled its waters 
Right in the way of their sons and daughters! 
However, he turned from South to West, 
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, 
And after him the children pressed ; 
Great was the joy in every breast. 
" He never can cross that mighty top ! 
He's forced to let the piping drop. 
And we shall see our children stop ! " 
When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side, 
A wondrous portal opened wide. 
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ; 
And the Piper advanced and the children 

followed ; 
And when all were in, to the very last, 
The door in the mountain side shut fast. 
Did I say all ? No ! One was lame". 
And could not dance the whole of the way ; 
And in after years, if you would blame 
His sadness, he was used to say, — 
"It's dull in our town since my playmates 

left ! 
I can't forget that I'm bereft 
Of all the pleasant sights they see, 
Which the Piper also promised me ; 
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, 
Joining the town and just at hand. 
Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, 
And flowers put forth a fairer hue. 
And every thing was strange and new ; 
The sparrows were brighter than peacocks 

here. 
And their dogs outran our fallow deer. 
And honej'-bees had lost their stings, 
And horses were born with eagles' wings ; 
And just as I became assured 
My lame foot Avould be speedily cured, 
The music stopped and I stood still, 
xind found myself outside the Hill, 
Left alone against my will, 



142 POEMS OF 


CHILDHOOD. 


To go now limping as before, 

And never hear of that country more ! " 


XV. 

So, Willy, let you and me be wipers 


SIV. , 


Of scores out with all men — especially pipers ; 
And, whether they pipe us free from rats or 
from mice. 


Alas, alas for Hameliu ! 
There came into many a burgher's pate 


If we 've promised them aught, let us keep 
our promise. 

KOJIEKT BrOW'HI>'0. 


A text which says, that Heaven's gate 
Opes to the rich at as easy rate 

As the needle's eye takes a camel in ! 

The Mayor sent East, "West, North, and 




A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 


South, 
To offer the piper by word of mouth. 
Wherever it was men's lot to find him, 


'T WAS the night before Christmas, when all 
through the house 


Silver and gold to his heart's content. 


Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; 


If he'd only return the way he went, 
And bring the children behind him. 


The stockings were hung by the chimney with 
care, 


But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor. 
And piper and dancers were gone for ever. 
They made a decree that lawyers never 


In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would bo 

there ; 
The children were nestled all snug iu their 


Should think their records dated duly 
If, after the day of the month and year. 
These words did not as well appear, 
" And so long after what happened here 

On the Twenty-second of July, 
Thirteen Hundred and Seventy-sis : " 
And the better in memory to fix 


beds. 
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their 

heads ; 
And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my 

cap. 
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's 

nap — 


The place of the Children's last retreat 


When out on the lawn there arose such a 


They called it the Pied Piper's Street— 


clatter. 


Where any one playing on pipe or tabor 
Was sure for the future to lose his labor. 


I sprang from my bed to see what was the 
matter. 


Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern 
To shock with mirth a street so solemn ; 


Away to the window I flew like a flash. 
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 


But opposite the place of the cavern 


The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen 


They wrote the story on a column, 
And on the Great Church window painted 
The same, to make the world acquainted 


snow. 
Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below; 
When, what to my wondering eyes should 


How their children were stolen away ; 
And there it stands to this very day. 


appear. 
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein- 


And I must not omit to say 

That in Transylvania there 's a tribe 

Of alien people that ascribe 


deer, 
With a little old driver, so lively and quick, 
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick, 


The outlandish ways and dress 


More rapid than eagles his coursers they 


On which their neighbors lay such stress 
To their fathers and mothers having risen 


came. 
And he whistled, and shouted, and called 


Out of some subterranean prison 


them by name ; 


Into which they Avere trepanned 


"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer 


Long time ago, in a mighty band, 

Out of Ilamelin town in Brunswick land, 


and Vixen ! 
On ! Comet, on ! Cupid, on ! Donder and 


But how or why, they don't understand. 


Blitzen — 



SATURDAY AFTERNOON 



143 



To the top of the porch, to the top of the 

wall ! 
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away 

all ! " 
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane 

fly, 

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to 

the sky, 
So, ui> to the house-top the coursers they 

flew, 
With the sleigh full of toys— and St. Nicho- 
las too. 
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof 
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. 
As I drew in my head, and was turning 

around, 
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a 

bound. 
He was dressed all in fur from his head to 

his foot. 
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes 

and soot ; 
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back. 
And he looked like a pedler just opening his 

pack. 
Ilis eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how 

merry ! 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a 

clierry ; 
Ilis droll little mouth was drawn up like a 

bow, 
And the beard on his chin was as Avhite as 

the snow. 
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, 
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a 

wreath. 
He had a broad face and a little round belly 
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full 

of jelly. 
He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old 

elf; 
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of 

myself. 
A wink- of his eye, and a twist of his head. 
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 
He spoke not a word, but went straight to 

his work. 
And filled all the stockings ; then turned with 

a jerk, 
And laying his finger aside of his nose. 
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 



He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a 
whistle, 

And away they all flew like the down of a 
thistle ; 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of 
sight, 

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good- 
night ! " 

Clemekt C. Mooee 



SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 

I LOVE to look on a scene like this, 

Of wild and careless play. 
And persuade myself that I am not old, 

And my locks are not yet gray ; 
For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, 

And makes his pulses fly. 
To catch the thrill of a happy voice. 

And the light of a pleasant eye, 

I have Avalked the world for fourscore years, 

And they say that I am old — 
That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death, 

And my years are well-nigh told. 
It is very true — it is very true — 

I am old, and I " bide my time ; " 
But my heart will leap at a scene like this, 

And I half renew my prime. 

Play on ! play on ! I am with you there. 

In the midst of your merry ring ; 
I can feel the thrill of the dai'ingjump, 

And the rush of the breathless swing. 
I hide with you in the fragrant liaj^ 

And I whoop the smothered call. 
And my feet slip up on the seedy floor, 

And I care not for the fall. / 

I am Avilling to die when my time shall corao, 

And I shall be glad to go — 
For the world, at best, is a weary place, 

And my pulse is getting low ; 
But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail 

In treading its gloomy way ; 
And it wiles my heart from its dreariness 

To see the young so gay. 

Nathamiel Pap.kee Willis. 



144 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

An me ! full sorely is my lieart forlorn, 
To think how modest worth neglected lies, 
"While partial Fame doth with her blasts 

adorn 
Such deeds alone as pride and pomp disguise ; 
Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprise. 
Lend me thy clarion, goddess ! let me try 
To sound the praise of merit, ere it dies, 
Such as I oft have chaunced to espy, 
Lost in the dreary shades of dull obscurity. 

In every village marked with little spire. 
Embowered in trees, and hardly known to 

Fame, 
There dwells, in lowly shed and mean attire, 
A matron old, whom we Schoolmistress 

name, • 
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame; 
They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent. 
Awed by the power of this relentless dame; 
And ofttimes, on vagaries idly bent. 
For unkempt hair, or task unconned, are 

sorely shent. 

And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree, 
Which Learning near her little dome did 

stow, 
Whilom a twig of small regard to see, 
Though now so wide its waving branches flow, 
And work the simple vassals mickle woe ; 
For not a wind might curl the leaves that 

blew. 
But their limbs shuddered, and their pulse 

beat loAv ; 
And as they looked, they found their horror 

grew. 
And shaped it into rods, and tingled at the 



So have I seen (who has not, may conceive) 
A lifeless phantom near a garden placed ; 
So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave. 
Of sport, of song, of pleasure, of repast ; 
They start, they stare, they wheel, they look 

aghast ; 
Sad servitude ! such comfortless annoy 
May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taste ! 



No superstition clog his dance of joy, 

No vision empty, vain, his native bliss destroy. 

Near to this dome is found a patch so gi'een, 
On which the tribe their gambols do display ; 
And at the door imprisoning-board is seen, 
Lest weakly wights of smaller size should 

stray. 
Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day ! 
The noises intermixed, which thence resound. 
Do Learning's little tenement betray ; 
Where sits the dame, disguised in look pro- 
found. 
And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her 
wheel around. 

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, 
Emblem right meet of decency does yield ; 
Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe. 
As is the hare-bell that adorns the field ; 
And in her hand for sceptre, she does wield 
Tway birchen sprays, with anxious fears en- 
twined. 
With dark distrust, and sad repentance filled, 
And stedfast hate, and sharp affliction joined. 
And fury uncontrolled, and chastisement un- 
kind. 

Few but have kenned, in semblance meet por- 
trayed, 
The childish faces of old Eol's train ; 
Libs, Notus, Auster ; these in frowns arrayed. 
How then would fare or earth, or sky, or 

main. 
Were the stern god to give his slaves the 

rein ? 
And were not she rebellious breasts to quell. 
And were not she her statutes to maintain, 
The cot no more, I ween, were deemed the 

cell. 
Where comely peace of mind and decent 
order dwell. 

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown; 
A russet kirtle fenced the nipping air ; 
'T was simple russet, but it was her own ; 
'T was her own country bred the flock so 

fair ; 
'T was her own labor did the fleece prepare ; 
And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged around. 
Through pious awe did term it passing rare ; 



THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 



145 



For they iu giiping ■\vouderracnt abound, 
And think, no doubt, she been the greatest 
wight on ground! 

Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her trutii, 
Xe pompous title did debaucli her ear ; 
Cloody, good-Avoman, gossip, n'aunt, forsooth, 
Or dame, the sole additions she did hear ; 
Yet these she challenged, these she held right 

dear ; 
Ne would esteem him act as mought behove, 
Who should not honored eld -with these re- 
vere ; 
For never title yet so mean could prove, 
But there was eke a mind which did that 
title love. 

One ancient hen she took delight to feed. 
The plodding pattern of the busy dame ; 
Which, ever and anon, impelled by need, 
Into her school, begirt with chickens, came ! 
Such favor did her past deportment claim ; 
And if Neglect had lavished on the ground 
Fragment of bread, she would collect the same ; 
For well she knew, and quaintly could ex- 
pound, 
What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb 
she found. 

Herbs, too, she knew, and well of each could 

spenk. 
That in lie^ garden sipped the silvery dew, 
Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy 

streak ; 
But herbs for use and physic not a few, 
Of grey renown, within these borders grew ; 
The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme. 
Fresh balm, and marygold of cheerful hue, 
The lowly gill, that never dares to climb ; 
And more I fain would sing, disdaining here 

to rhyme. 

Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung, 

Tliat gives dim eyes to wander leagues 

around ; 
And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue ; 
And plantain ribbed, that heals the reaper's 

wound ; 
f\nd marjoram sweet, in shepherd's posie 

found ; 

23 



And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom 
Shall be erewhile in arid bundles bound. 
To lurk amid the labors of her loom. 
And crown her kerchiefs clean with niiclde 
rare perfume. 

And here trim rosemarine, that whilom 

crowned 
The daintiest garden of the proudest peer. 
Ere, driven from its envied site, it found 
A sacred shelter for its branches here ; 
Where edged with gold its glittering skirts 

appear. 
Oh wassel days ! O customs meet and well ! 
Ere this was banished from its lofty sphere ! 
Simplicity then sought this humble cell, 
Nor ever would she more with thane and 

lordling dwell. 

Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve. 
Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did 

mete. 
If winter 't were, she to her hearth did 

cleave. 
But in her garden found a summer-seat ; 
Sweet melody ! to hear her then repeat 
How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king, 
While taunting foemen did a song entreat. 
All for the nonce untuning every string, 
Uphung their useless lyres — small heart had 

they to sing. 

For she was just, and friend to virtuous lore. 
And passed much time in truly virtuous deed; 
And in those elfin ears would oft deplore 
The times when truth by Popish rage did 

bleed, 
And tortuous death was true devotion's 

meed, 
And simple Faith in iron chains did mourn. 
That nould on wooden image place her creed ; 
And lawny saints in smouldering flames did 

burn ; 
Ah, dearest Lord, forcfend thilk days should 

e'er return ! 

In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem 
By the sharp tooth of cankering eld defaced, 
In which, when he receives his diadem. 
Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is 
placed, 



146 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



The matron sate, and some with rank she 

graced, 
(The source of children's and of courtiers' 

pride !) 
Redressed affronts, for vile affronts there 

passed ; 
And warned them not the fretful to deride, 
But love each other dear, whatever them 

hetide. 

Right well she knew each temper to descry ; 
To thwart the proud, and the suhmiss to 

raise ; 
Some with vile co2)per-prize exalt on high, 
And some entice with pittance small of 

praise ; 
And other some with baleful sprig she frays ; 
E'en absent, she the reins of power doth hold. 
While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she 

sways ; 
Forewarned if little bird their pranks behold, 
'T will whisper in her ear and all the scene 

unfold. 

Lo ! now with state she utters the command ; 
Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair ; 
Their books of stature small they take in 

hand. 
Which with pellucid horn secured are. 
To save from fingers Avet the letters fair ; 
The work so gay, that on their back is seen, 
St. George's high achievements doth declare ; 
On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been, 
Kens the forthcoming rod — unpleasing sight, 

I ween ! 

Ah luckless he, and born beneath the beam 
Of evil star ! it irks me while I write ; 
As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream. 
Oft as he told of deadly, dolorous plight. 
Sighed as he sung, and did in tears indite. 
For, brandishing the rod, she doth begin 
To loose the brogues, the stripling's late de- 
light ! 
And down they drop ; appears his dainty 

skin. 
Fair as the furry coat of whitest ermilin. 

O ruthful scene ! when from a nook obscure, 
His little sister doth his pjBril see ; 
All playful as she sate, she grows demure ; 
She liuds full soon her wonted spirits flee ; 



She meditates a prayer to set him free ; 
Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny, 
(If gentle pardon could with dames agree) 
To her sad grief, which swells in either eye. 
And wrings her so that all for pity she could 
die. 

No longer can she now her shrieks command. 
And hardly she forbears, through awful fear. 
To rushen forth, and with presumptuous 

hand 
To stay harsh justice in his mid-career. 
On thee she calls, on thee, her parent dear ! 
(Ah! too remote to ward the shameful blow !) 
She sees no kind domestic visage near ; 
And soon a flood of tears begins to flow, 
And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe. 

But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may 

trace ? 
Or what device his loud laments explain ? 
The form uncouth of his disguised face ? 
The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? 
The plenteous shower that does his cheek 

distain ? 
When he in abject wise implores the dame, 
Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to gain ; 
Or when from high she levels Avell her aim, 
And through the thatch his cries each falling 

stroke proclaim. 

The other tribe, aghast, Avith sore dismay, 
Attend, and con their tasks Avith m'ickle care ; 
By turns, astonied, every tAvig survey, 
And from their felloAv's hateful Avounds be- 
ware, 
KnoAving, I wis, hoAv each the same may 

share. 
Till fear has taught them a performance meet. 
And to the Avell-knoAvn chest the dame re- 
pair, 
Whence oft with sugared cates she doth them 

greet, 
And ginger-bread y-rare ; noAv, certes, doubly 
sweet. 

See to their seats they hie Avith merry glee, 
And in beseemly order sitten there ; 
All but the Avight of bum y-galled ; he 
Abhori'eth bench, and stool, and fourm, and 
chair. 



THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 



14' 



(Til is hand in mouth y-fixed, that rends his 

hair ;) 
xVnd oko with snubs profound, and heaving 

breast, 
C(.)uvulsions intermitting, doth decUire 
His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust behest; 
And scorns her oftered love, and slmns to be 

caressed. 

His face besprent with liquid crystal shines, 
His blooming face that seems a purple flower, 
Wliich low to earth its drooping head de- 
clines, 
All smeared and sullied by a vernal shower. 
Oh the hard bosoms of despotic power ! 
All, all but she, the author of his shame, 
All, all but she, regret this mournful hour ; 
Yet hence the youth, and hence the flower 

shall claim. 
If so I deem aright, transcending wortli and 
fame. 

Behind some door, in melancholy thought, 
Mindless of food, he, dreary caititf! pines; 
Ne for his fellov.'s' joyaunce careth aught. 
But to the wind all merriment resigns ; 
And deems it shame if he to peace inclines ; 
And many a sullen look askance is sent, 
"Which for his dame's annoyance he designs ; 
And still the more to pleasure him she 's bent, 
The more doth he perverse, her'haviour past 
resent. 

Ah me ! how much I fear lest pride it be ! 
But if that pride it be, which thus inspires, 
Beware, je dames, with nice discernment see, 
Ye quench not too the sparks of noble fires. 
Ah ! better far than all the Muses' lyres. 
All coward arts, is valor's generous heat ; 
The firm fixt breast which fit and right re- 
quires, 
Like Vernon's patriot soul ! more justly great 
TJian craft that pimps for ill or flowery false 
deceit. 

Yet nursed witli skill, what dazzling fruits 

appear ! 
E'en now sagacious Foresight points to show 
A little bench of heedless bishops here, 
And there a chancellor in embryo, 



Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so. 
As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'ei 

shall die ! 
Though now he craAvl along the ground so 

low, 
Nor weeting how the Muse should soar on 

high, 
Wisheth, poor starveling elf! his paper kite 

may fly. 

And this perhaps, w-ho, censurmg the design, 
Low lays the house which that of cards doth 

build. 
Shall Dennis be ! if rigid Fate incline, 
And many an epic to his rage shall yield ; 
And many a poet quit th' Aoniaii field, 
x\nd, soured by age, profound he shall ap- 
pear, 
As he who now with 'sdainful fury thrilled 
Surveys mine work ; and levels many a sneer, 
And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, " "What 
stuft' is here ? " 



And now Dan Phoebus gains the middle skic, 
And Liberty unbars her prison-door ; 
And like a rushing torrent out they fly. 
And now the grassy cirque had covered o'er 
With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar ; 
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run ; 
Heaven shield their short-lived pastimes, 1 

implore ! 
For well may freedom erst so dearly won, 
Appear to British elf more gladsome than 

the sun. 



Enjoy, poorimps ! enjoy your sportive trade, 

And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest flow- 
ers, 

For when my bones in grass-green sods aro 
laid; 

For never may ye taste more careless hours 

In knightly castles, or in ladies' bowers. 

Oh vain to seek delight in earthly thing! 

But most in courts where proud Ambition 
towers ; 

Deluded wight ! who woens lair peace can 
spring 

Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of 
king. 



148 



POEMS OF CHILDEOOD 



See iu each sprite some various bent appear ! 
These rudely carol most incondite lay ; 
Those sauntering on the green, with jocund 

leer 
Salute the stranger passing on his way ; 
Some builden fragile tenements of clay ; 
Some to the standing lake their courses bend, 
With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to 

play ; 
Thilk to the hunter's savory cottage tend, 
In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite 

to spend. 

Here, as each season yields a different store, 
Each season's stores in order ranged been ; 
Apples with cabbage-net y-covered o'er, 
Galling full sore th' nnmoneyed wight, are 

seen ; 
And goose-b'rie clad in livery red or green ; 
And here of lovely dye, the Catharine pear. 
Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice, I ween : 
may no Avight e'er pennyless come there, 
T,pst smit with ardent love he pine with 

hopeless care! 

See ! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound. 
With thi-ead so white in tempting posies ty'd, 
Scattering like blooming maid their glances 

round. 
With pampered look draw little eyes aside; 
And must be bought, though penury betide. 
The plumb all azure and the nut all brown. 
And here each season do those cakes abide. 
Yv^hose honored names th' inventive city 

own, 
Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's 

praises known. 

Admired Salopia ! that with venial pride 
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient 

wave, 
Famed for her loyal cares in perils tried, 
Her dauglitcrs lovely, and her striplings 

brave ; 
Ah! midst the rest, may flowers adorn his 

grave. 
Whose art did first these dulcet cates display ! 
A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave. 
Who cheerless o'er her darkling region stray, 
Till Eeason's morn arise, and light them on 

their way. 

"William SnENSTONE. 



ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON 
COLLEGE. 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 

That crown the watery glade, 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Iler Henry's holy shade; 
And ye that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights the expanse below 

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey. 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers 

among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 

His silver winding way : 

Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! 

Ah, fields beloved in vain ! — 
Where once my careless childhood strayed, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from ye blovv^ 
A momentary bliss bestow. 

As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
My weary soul they seem to soothe. 
And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race, 
Disporting on thy margeut green. 

The paths of pleasure trace ; 
Who foremost now delight to cleave, 
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave ? 

The captive linnet which enthrall ? 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed. 

Or urge the flying ball ? 

While some, on urgent business bent, 

Their murmuring labors ])\y 
'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty ; 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their li-ttle reign. 

And unknown regions dare descry ; 
Still as they run they look behind, 
They hear a voice in every wind. 

And snatch a fearful joy. 

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 
Less jfleasing Avhen possest ; 



THE CniLDREX IX THE WOOD. 



149 



The tear Ibrgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the breast : 
Their buxom health, of rosy hue, 
Wild wit, iaveution e\'er new, 

And hvely cheer, of vigor born ; 

The thoughtless day, the easy night. 

The spirits pure, the slumbers light. 

That fly tlie approach of morn. 

Alas ! regardless of their doom. 

The little victims jilay ! 
N^o sense have they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond to-day ; 
Yet see, how all around them wait 
The mmisters of human fate. 

And black misfortune's balefd train ! 
Ah, show them where in ambush stand, 
To seize their prey, the murderous band! 

Ah, tell them, they are men I 

These shall the fury passions tear, 

The vultures of the miud, 
Disdamfiil anger, pallid fear. 
And shame that skulks behind ; 

Or pining love shall waste their youth, 
Or jealousy, with rankling tooth. 

That inly gnaws the secret heart ; 
And envy wan, and faded care, 
Grim-visaged, comfortless despair, 

And sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 

Then whu-1 the wretch from high, 
To bitter scorn a sacrifice. 

And grinning infamy ; 
The stings of folsehood those shall try, 
And hard unkindness' altered eye. 

That mocks the tears it forced to flow ; 
And keen remorse, with blood defiled, 
And moody madness, laughing wild 

Amid severest woe. 

Lo ! in tlie vale of years beneath 

A grisly troop are seen. 
The painful family of death. 

More hideous than their queen ; 
This racks the joints, this fires the veins. 
That every laboring sinew strains, 

Those in the deeper vitals ra^-e : 
lo! poverty, to fill the band. 



That numbs the soul with icy hand 
And sloAV-consuming age. 

To each his sufferings : all are men. 

Condemned alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain, 

The unfeeling for Ms own. 
Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate I 
Since sorrow never comes too late, 

And happiness too swiftly flies. 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
No more :— where ignorance is bliss, 

'T is folly to be wise ! 

TnoMAS Geat. 

THE CIIILDEEN IN THE WOOD. 

Now ponder well, you parents dear. 

The Avords which I shall write ; 
A doleful story you shall hear. 

In time brought forth to light : 
A gentleman, of good account, • 

In Norfolk lived of late, 
Whose wealth and riches did surmount 

Most men of his estate. 

Sore sick he wa?, and like to die, 

No help then he could have ; 
His wife by him as sick did he, 

And both possessed one grave. 
No love between these two was lost, 

Each was to other kind ; 
In love they lived, in love they died. 

And left two babes behind : 

The one a fine and pretty boy, 

Not passing three years old ; 
The other a girl, more young than he, 

And made in beauty's mould. 
The father left his httle son. 

As plainly doth appear, 
When he to perfect age should come, 

Three hundred pounds a year— 

And to his little daughter Jane 

Eive hundi-ed pounds in gold, 
To be paid down on marriage-day 

Which might not be controlled ; 
But if the children chanced to die 

Ere they to age should come, 
Their uncle should possess their wealth, 

For so the will did run. 



150 rOEMS OF 


::! H I L D n D . 


" iSTow, brother," said the dying man, 


Away then Avcnt these pretty babes, 


"Look to my cliildren dear; 


Eejoicing at that tide, 


Be j?ood unto rny boy and giri. 


Rejoicing with a merry mind. 


ISTo friends else I have here ; 


They should on cock-horse ride ; 


To God and you I do commend 


They prate and prattle pleasantly. 


Mj children, night and day ; 


As they rode on the way, 


But little while, be sure, we have, 


To those that should their butchers be. 


Within this world to stay. 


And work their lives' decay. 


" You must be father and mother both. 


So that the pretty speech they had, 


And uncle, all in one ; 


Made Murder's heart relent ; 


God knows what will become of them 


And they that undertook the deed 


When I am dead and gone." 


Full sore they did repent. 


With that bespake then- mother dear. 


Yet one of them, more hard of heart, 


"0 brother kind," quoth she. 


Did vow to do his charge. 


"You a,re the man must bring our babes 


Because the wretch that hired him 


To wealth or misery. 


Had paid him very large. 


" And if you keep them carefully, 


The other would not agree thereto, 


Then God will you reward ; 


So here they fell at strife ; 


If otherwise you seem to deal, 


With one another they did fight. 


God will your deeds regard." 


About the children's life ; 


With lips as cold as any stone. 


And he that was of mildest mood, 


She kissed her children small : 


Did slay the other there. 


"God bless you both, my children dear," 


Within an imfrequented wood ; 


With that the tears did fall. 


While babes did quake for fear. 


These speeches then their brother spake 


He took the children by the hand 


To this sick couple there : 


When tears stood in their eye. 


" The keeping of your children dear. 


And bade them come and go with him, 


Sweet sister, do not fear ; 


And look they did not cry ; 


God never prosper me nor mine, 


And two long miles he led them on. 


Nor aught else that I have. 


While they for food complain : 


If I do wrong your children dear. 


" Stay here," quoth he, "I '11 bring you bread, 


When you are laid in grave." 


When I do come again." 


Their parents being dead and gone. 


These pretty babes, with hand in hand, 


The children home he takes. 


Went wandering up and down, 


And brings them home unto his house, 


But never more they saw the man. 


And much of them he makes. 


Approaching from the town. 


He had not kept these pretty babes 


Their pretty lips, with black-berries. 


A twelvemonth and a day. 


Were all besmeared and dyed. 


But, for their wealth, he did devise 


And, when they saw the darksome night. 


To make them both away. 


They sate them down and cried. 


He bargained with two ruffians strong, 


Thus wandered these two pretty babes, 


Which were of furious mood. 


Till death did end their grief; 


That they should take these children young. 


In one another's arms they died, 


And slay them in a wood. 


As babes wanting relief. 


He told his wife, and all he had. 


No bm-ial these pretty babes 


He did the children send 


Of any man receives. 


To be brought up in fair London, 


Till robin redbreast, painfully, 


With one that was his friend. 


Did cover them with leaves. 



I 



LADY ANN BOTIIWELL'S LAMENT. 



151 



And no\Y the lioavy wrath of God 

Upon their uncle fell ; 
Yen, fearful fiends did haunt his house, 

His conscience felt an hell. 
Ilis l)arns were firetT, his goods consumed, 

His lands were ban-en made ; 
His cattle died -within the field, 

And nothing with him stayed. 

And, in the voyage of Portugal, 

Two of his sons did die ; 
And, to conclude, himself was brought 

To extreme misery. 
He paAvned and mortgaged all his land 

Ere seven years came about ; 
And now, at length, this wicked act 

Did by this means come out : 

The fellow that did take in hand 

These children foi* to kill, 
Was for a robber judged to die. 

As was God's blessed will ; 
Who did confess the very trutli. 

The which is here expressed ; 
Their imcle died while he, for debt. 

In prison long did rest. 

You that executors be made, 

And overseers eke ; 
Of children that be fatherless. 

And infants mild and meek, 
Take you example by this thhig, 

And yield to each his riglit, 

Lest God, with such like misery, 

Your wicked minds requite. 

Anoxtmous. 



LADY ANX BOTIIWELL'S LAMENT. 

A SCOTTISH SOXCt. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe ; 
If thou 'st be silent, I 'se be glad, 
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad. 
Balow, my boy, thy mither's joy! 
Thy father breides me great annoy. 

Baloic, my hal/e, ly stil and sle'qje! 

It grieves me sair to see tliee tceipe. 

When he began to court my luve, 
And with his sugred words to nmve, 



His fayniugs fals, and flattering cheire, 
To me tliat time did not appeire : 
Rut now I see, most cruell bee, 
Cares neitlicr for my babe nor nice. 

JJaloip, my hahe, ly stil and sleipe! 

It grieves ma sair to see thee weipe. 

Ly stil, my darliuge, sleipe awhile. 
And when thou wakest sweitly smile : 
But smile not, as thy father did, 
To cozen maids ; nay, God forbid ! 
But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire. 
Thy fatheris hart and face to beire. 

Balow, my Itaie, ly stil and sleipe f 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

I cannae chuse, but ever will 
Be luving to thy father stil : 
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde. 
My luve with him maun stil abyde : 
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae, 
Mine hart can neir depart him frae. 

Balow, my iahe, ly stil and sleipe ! 

It grieves me sair to see thee iceipe. 

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine, 

To fayniugs fals thine hart incline ; 

Be loyal to thy luver trew. 

And nevir change hir for a new ; 

If gude or faire, of hir have care, 

For women's banning 's wonderous sair. 

Balow, my dale, ly stil and sleipe/ 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane. 

Thy winsome smiles maun else my paine ; 

My babe and I '11 together live. 

He '11 comfort me when cares doe grieve ; 

My babe and I right saft will ly, 

And quite forget man's cruelty. 

Balow, my lale, ly stil and sleipe/ 
It grieves vie sair to see thee tceipe. 

Fareweil, farewell, thou falsest youth 
That ever kist a woman's mouth ! 
I wish aU maids be warned by mee, 
Kevir to trust man's curtesy; 
For if we doe but chance to bow. 
They '11 use us than they care not how. 

Balow, my dale, ly stil and sleipe/ 
It grieves me sair to see thee tceipie. 

AsoNTMors, 



.J- 



152 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



DANAE. 

Whilst, around licr lone ark sweeping, 

Wailed the winds and Avaters Avild, 
Tier young clieelvs all wan with weeping, 

Daniie clasjied her sleeping child ; 
And " Alas," (cried she,) " ir.y dearest, 

Wliat deep wrongs, what woes, are mine ! 
But nor wrongs nor woes thou fearest, 

In that sinless rest of thine. 
Faint the moonbeams break above thee. 

And, within here, all is gloom ; 
But fast wrapt in arms that love thee. 

Little reck'st thou of our doom. 
Not the rude spray round thee flying, 

Has e'en damped thy clustering hair, — 
On thy purple mantlet lying, 

O mine Innocent, my Fair ! 
Yet, to thee were sorrow sorrow, • 

Thou would'st lend thy little ear. 
And this heart of thine might borrow 

Haply yet a moment's cheer. 
But no ; slumber on, Babe, slumber ; 

Slumber, Ocean- waves ; and you. 
My dark troubles, without number, — 

Oh, that ye would slumber too ! 
Though with wrongs they 've brimmed my 
chalice. 

Grant Jove, that, in future years. 
This boy may defeat their malice. 

And avenge his mother's tears!" 

SiMONiDES. (Greek.) 
Translation of William Petek. 



BOYHOOD. 

Ah, then how sweetly closed those crowded 

days ! 
The minutes parting one by one like rays. 
That fade upon a summer's eve. 
But oh ! what charm, or magic numbers 
Can give me back the gentle slumbers 
Those weary, happy days did leave ? 
When by my bed I saw my mother kneel. 
And with her blessing took her nightly kiss ; 
Whatever Time destroys, he cannot this — 
E'en now that nameless kiss I feel. 

Washington Allston. 



HER EYES ARE WILD, 



Hee eyes are wild, lier head is bare, 

The sun has burnt her coal-black hair ; 

Her eyebrows have a rusty stain. 

And she came far from over the main. 

She had a baby on her arm. 

Or else she were alone ; 

And underneath the hay-stack v.-arm, 

And on the greenwood stone, 

She talked and sung the woods among, 

And it was in the English tongue. 



" Sweet babe ! they say that I am mad ; 

But nay, my heart is far too glad ; 

And I am happy when I sing 

Full many a sad and doleful thing. 

Then, lovely baby, do not fear ! 

I pray thee have no fear of me ; 

But safe as in a cradle, here, 

My lovely baby ! thou shalt be. 

To thee I know too much I owe ; 

I cannot work thee any woe. 



" A fire was once within my brain, 
And in my head a dull, dull pain ; 
And fiendish faces, one, two, three. 
Hung at my breast, and pulled at me. 
But then there came a sight of joy ; 
It came at once to do me good : 
I waked, and saw my little boy, 
My little boy of flesh and blood ; 
Oh joy for me that sight to see I 
For he was here, and only he. 



" Suck, little babe, oh suck again ! 
It cools my blood ; it cools my brain ; 
Thy lips, I feel them, baby ! they 
Draw from my heart the pain away. 
Oh press mo with thy little hand ! 
It loosens something at my chest ; 
About that tight and deadly band 
I feel thy little fingers prest. 
The breeze I see is in the tree — 
It comes to cool my babe and mc. 



Il 



tup: adopted child. 



Ifi3 



"Oh love me, love me, little boy ! 
Tliou art thy motlier's only joy; 
And do not dread the waves below, 
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go ; 
The high crag cannot work me harm, 
Nor leaping torrents when they howl ; 
The babe I carrj^ on my arm. 
He saves for me my precious soul ; 
Then happy lie ; for blest am I ; 
"Without me my sweet babe would die. 



"Then do not fear, my boy ! for thee 

Bold as a lion will I be ; 

And I will always be thy guide, 

Through hollow snows and rivers wide. 

I '11 build an Indian bower ; I know 

The leaves that make the softest bed ; 

And, if from me thou wilt not go, 

But still be true till I am dead, 

My pretty thing ! then thou shalt sing 

As merry as the birds in Spring. 



'' Thy fiither cares not for my breast, 
'T is thine, sweet baby, there to rest ; 
'T is all thine own ! — and if its hue 
Be changed, that was so fair to view, 
'T is fair enough for thee, my dove ! 
My beauty, little child, is flown. 
But thou wilt live with me in love ; 
And what if my poor cheek be brown ? 
'T is well for me thou canst not see 
ITow pale and wan it else would be. 



"Dread not their taunts, my little Life : 
[ am thy father's wedded wife ; 
And underneath the spreading tree 
We two will live in honesty. 
If his sweet boy he could forsake. 
With me he never would have stayed. 
From him no harm my babe can take ; 
But he, poor man, is wretched made ; 
And every day we two will pray 
For him tliat 's gone and far away. 
24 



"I'll teach my boy the sweetest things: 
I '11 teach him how the owlet sings. 
My little babe ! thy lips are still. 
And thou hast almost sucked thy fill. 
— Where art thou gone, my own dear child 
What Avicked looks are those I see ? 
Alas ! alas ! that look so wild. 
It never, never came from me. 
If thou art mad, my pretty lad, 
Then I must be for ever sad. 



" Oh smile on me, my little lamb ! 
For I thy own dear mother am. 
My love for thee has Avell been tried .• 
I 've sought thy father far and wide. 
I know the poisons of the shade ; 
I know the earth-nuts fit for food. 
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid ; 
We '11 find thy father in the wood. 
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away ! 
And there, my babe, we'll live for aye." 
William Wordswoetii. 



THE ADOPTED CHILD. 

"Why would'st thoii leave me, oh gentle 

child? 
Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild— 
A straw-roofed cabin, with lowly wall ; 
Mine is a fair and pillared hall. 
Where many an image of marble gleams, 
And the sunshine of pictures for ever streams.' 

" Oh ! green is the turf where my brothers 

play, 
Through the long bright hours of the sum 

mer's day ; 
They find the red cup- moss where they climb. 
And they chase the bee o'er the scented 

thyme, 
And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms 

they know; 
Lady, kind lady ! oh let me go." 

" Content thee, boy ! in my bower to dwell ; 
Here are sweet sounds which tliou lovest 
well : 



154 



POEMS OF CEILDEiOOD, 



Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, 
Harps which the wandering hreezes tune, 
And the silvery wood-note of many a bird 
Whose voice Avas ne'er in thy mountain 
heard." 

" U\il my mother sings at the twilight's fall, 
A. song of the hills far more sweet than all ; 
She sings it under our own green tree 
To the babe half slumbering on her knee ; 
I dreamt last night of that music low — 
Lady, kind lady ! oh, let me go." 

" Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest ; 
She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast; 
Thou would'st meet her footstep, my boy, no 

more, 
Nor hear her song at the cabin door. 
Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh, 
And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest 

dye." 

"Is my motlier gone from her home away? — 
But I know that my brothers are there at 

play— 
I know they are gathering the fox-glove's 

bell, 
Or the long fern leaves by the sparkling well ; 
Or they launch their boats where the bright 

streams flow — 
Lady, kind lady ! oh, lei me go." 

" Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now; 
They sport no more on the mountain's brow ; 
They have left the fern by the spring's green 

side, 
And the streams where the fairy barks were 

tied. 
Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot, 
E'or the cabin home is a lonely spot." 

" Are they gone, all gone from the sunny 

hill?— 
But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still ; 
And the red-deer bound in their gladness free, 
And the heath is bent by the singing bee. 
And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow; 
Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go." 

Felima Dorothe.v Hemans. 



LUCY GRAY; 

OE, SOMTUDE. 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray ; 

And, when I crossed the wild, 
I chanced to see, at break of day 

The solitary child. 

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; 

She dwelt on a wide moor, — 
The sweetest thing that ever grew 

Beside a human door. 

Y"ou yet may spy the fawn at play, 

The hare upon the green ; 
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 

Will never more be seen. 

"To-night will be a stormy night,--- 

You to the town must go ; 
And take a lantern. Child, to light 

Y^our mother through the snow." 

"That, Father! will I gladly do ; 

'T is scarcely afternoon, — 
The minster-clock has just struck two, 

And yonder is the moon. " 

At this the father raised his hook, 

And snapped a faggot-band, 
lie plied his work ; — and Lucy took 

The lantern in her hand. 

Not blither is the mountain roe — 

With many a wanton stroke 
Iler feet disperse the powdery snow 

That rises up like smoke. 

The storm came on before its time ; 

She wandered up and down ; 
And many a hill did Lucy climb. 

But never reached the town. 

The wretched parents all that night 
AVent shouting far and Atide ; 

But there was neither sound nor sight 
To serve them for a guide. 

At daybreak on the hill they stood 

That overlooked the moor ; 
And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 

A furlong from their door. 



THE CHILDREN'S DOUR. 155 


They wept, — aud, turuiug lioineward, cried, 


Then fling them to the winds, and o'er the 


" lu heaven we all shall meet ; " — 


lawn 


"When in the snow the mother spied 


Bound with so playful and so light a foot. 


The print of Lucy's feet. 


That the pressed daisy scarce declined her 




head. 




CnAELEB T.AMB. 


Tlien downwards from the steep hill's edge 




They tracked the footmarks small ; 
And through the hroken hawthorn-hedge, 






And by the low stone-wall ; 






THE CHILDEEN'S HOUR. 


And then an open field they crossed — 




The marks were stUl the same — 


Between the dark and the daylight. 


They tracked them on, nor ever lost ; 


When night is beginning to lower, 


And to the bridge they came. 


Comes a pause in the day's occupations, 




That is known as the children's hour. 


They followed from the snowy bank 




Those footmarks, one by one, 


I hear in the chamber above me 


Into the middle of the plank ; 


The patter of little feet, 


And further there were none ! 


The sound of a door that is opened, 




And voices soft and sweet. 


— Yet some maintain that to this day 




She is a living child ; 


From my study I see in the lamplight, 


That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 


Descending the broad hall stair. 


I'pon the lonesome wild. 


Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, 




And Edith with golden hair. 


O'er rough aud smooth she trips along, 




And never looks behind ; 


A whisper and then a silence . 


And sings a solitary song 


Yet I know by their merry eyes 


That whistles in the wind. 


They are plotting and planning together 


"William 'WoBDSwoKTn. 


To take me by surprise. 
A sudden rush from the stau-way. 






A sudden raid from the hall. 


CHILDHOOD. 


By three doors left unguarded, 'x 




They enter my castle wall. 


In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse 




Upon the days gone by ; to act in thought 


They clunb up into my turret. 


Past seasons o'er, and be again a child ; 


O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 


To sit in fancy on the turf-clad slope 


If I try to escape, they surround me ; 


Down which the child would roll; to pluck 


They seem to be everywhere. 


gay flowers, 




Make posies in the sun, which the chUd's 




hand 


They almost devour me with kisses, 


(Cliildhood offended soon, soon reconciled) 


Their arms about me entwine. 


Woidd throw away, and straight take up 


Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 


again, 


In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine. 



155 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Do you think, oli blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 

Such an old moustache as I am 
Is not a match for you ah ? 

I have you fast in my fortress, 

And will not let you depart, 
But put you into the dungeon 

In the roimd-tov;^er of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shaU crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away. 

Heney Wadswoeth Lokgfellow. 



"While Maud she flouts, and Bell she pouts, 

They scamper and drop their posies ; 
But dear little Kate takes nought amiss, 
And leaps in my arms with a loving kiss. 
And I give her all my roses. 

T. "Westwood. 



UXDER MY WINDOW. 

Under my window, under my window. 

All in the Midsummer weather, 
Three little girls with fluttering cmds 

Flit to and fro together : — 
There's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, 
And Maud with her mantle of silver-green. 

And Kate with her scarlet feather. 

Under my window, under my window. 

Leaning stealthily over, 
Merry and clear, the voice I hear. 

Of each glad-hearted rover. 
Ah ! sly little Kate, she steals my roses ; 
And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies, 

As merry as bees in clover. 

Under my window, under my window. 
In the blue Midsummer weather, 

Steahng slow, on a hushed tip-toe, 
I catch them all together: — 

BeU with her bonnet of satin sheen, 

And Maud with her mantle of silver-green. 
And Kate with the scarlet feather. 



Under my wmdow, under my window. 
And off through the orchard closes ; 



I REMEMBEE, I REMEMBER. 

I EEMEsiBER, I remember 
The house where I was born, 
The little window where the sun 
Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon, 
Nor brought too long a day ; 
But now, I often wished the night 
Had borne my breath away ! 

I remember, I remember 
The roses, red and white, 
The violets, and the lily-cups — 
Those flowers made of light ! 
The lilacs where the robin built, 
And where my brother set 
The laburnum on his birth-day, — 
The tree is living yet ! 

I remember, I remember 

Where I was used to swing. 

And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swallows on the wing ; 

My spirit flew in feathers then. 

That is so heavy now, 

And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow ! 



I remember, 1 remember 

The fir-trees dark iind high ; 

I used to think their slender tops 

Were close against the sky. 

It was a childish ignorance, 

But now 't is little joy 

To know I 'm farther off from Heaven 

Than Avhen I was a boy. 

Thomas Hood. 



WE ARE SEVEN. 



157 



WE ARE SEVEN". 



-A SIMPLE child, 



Tliat lightly di-aws its breath, 
And feels its life in every limb, 
What should it know of death? 



I met a little cottage girl : 
She was eight years old, she said, 

Iler hair was thick with many a curl 
Tliat clustered romid her head. 

She hnd a rustic, woodland air. 

And she was wildly clad ; 
Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — 

Her beauty made me glad. 

" Sisters and brothers, little maid. 

How many may yoa be ? " 
"How many? Seven in all," she said, 

And wondering looked at me. 

"And where are they? I pray you tell." 
She ansvrered : " Seven are we ; 

And two of us at Conway dwell. 
And two are gone to sea. 

" Two of us in the churchyard lie. 

My sister and my brother ; 
And, in the churchyard cottage, I 

Dwell near them with my mother." 

"You say that two at Conway dwell. 

And two are gone to sea, 
Yet yc are seven! I pray you tell, 

Sweet maid, how this may be." 

Then did the little maid reply : 
" Seven boys and girls are we ; 

Two of us in the churchyard lie. 
Beneath the churchyard tree." 

" You run about, my little maid ; 

Your limbs they are alive ; 
If two are in the churchyard laid. 

Then ye are only Ave." 



"Their graves are green, they may be seen," 

The little maid replied : 
" Twelve steps or more from my mother's door. 

And they are side by side. 



" ily stockings there I often knit, 
My kerchief there I hem ; 

And there upon the ground I sit, 
And sing a song to them. 



" And often after sunset, sir. 
When it is light and fair, 

I take my little porringer, 
And eat my supper there. 



" The first that died was sister Jane ; 

In bed she moaning lay, 
Till God released her of her pain • 

And then she went away. 



" So in the churchyard she was laid ; 

And, when the grass was diy. 
Together round her grave we played, 

My brother John and I. 



"And when the ground was white with snow, 

And I could run and slide, 
My brother John was forced to go, 

And he lies by her side." 



" How many are you, then," said I, 
" If they two are in heaven ? " 

Quick was tlae little maid's reply : 
" Master ! we are seven." 



"But they are dead; those two are dead! 

Their spirits are in heaven ! " — 
'T was throwing words away ; for still 
The little maid would have her will, 

And said: "Nay, we are seven! " 

"William WoRDS'WOJt-TH. 



15$ 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



ANOTE IIT TIIE GRAVEYAED. 

She boundtd o'er the graves, 
With a buoyant step of mirth ; 
She bounded o'er the graves, 
Where the weeping willow waves. 
Like a creature not of earth. 

Her hair was blown aside, 

And her eyes were glittering bright ; 

Her hair was blown aside, 

And her little hands spread wide, 

With an innocent delight. 

She spelt the lettered word 
That registers the dead ; 
She spelt the lettered word, 
And her busy thoughts were stirred 
With pleasure as she read. 

She stopped and culled a leaf 
Left fluttering on a rose ; 
She stopped and culled a leaf, 
Sweet moniunent of grief. 
That in our churchyard grows. 

She culled it with a smile — 
'T was near her sister's mound : 
She culled it with a smile, 
And played with it awhile. 
Then scattered it around. 

I did not chill her heart, 
Nor turn its gush to tears ; 
I did not chill her heart. 
Oh, bitter drops will start 
Full soon in coming years. 

Caeoline Oilman. 



BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST. 

We were crowded in the cabin, 
Not a soul would dare to sleep, — 
It was midnight on the waters 
And a storm was on the deep. 

'T is a fearful thing in Winter 
To be shattered by the blast, 



And to hear the rattling trumpet 
Thunder: " Cut away the mast ! " 

So we shuddered there in silence, — 
For the stoutest held his breath, 
While the hungry sea was roaring, 
And the breakers talked with Death. 

As thus we sat in darkness, 

Each one busy in his prayers, 

" We are lost! " the captain shouted 

As he staggered down the stairs. 

But his little daughter whispered, 
As she took his icy hand : 
" Is n't God upon the ocean 
Just the ^ame as on the land ? " 

Then we kissed the little maiden, 
And we spoke in better cheer. 
And we anchored safe in harbor 
When the morn was shining clear. 

James T. Fields. 



LITTLE BELL. 

He prayeth well, wholovetli well 
Both man and bird and beast. 
/ / Ancient Mariner. 

Piped the blackbird on the beechwood spray : 
" Pretty maid, slow wandering this way. 

What 's your name ? " quoth he — 
"What's your name? Oh stop and straight 

unfold, 
Pretty maid with showery curls of gold," — 

"Little Bell," said she. 

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks — 
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks — 

" Bonny bird," quoth she, 
" Sing me your best song before I go." 
"Here's the very finest song I know, 

Little Bell," said he. 

And the blackbird piped ; you never heard 
Half so gay a song from any bird — 

Full of quips and wiles, 
Now so round and rich, now soft and slow, 



THE LITTLE BLACI>: BOY 



159 



AH for love of that sweet face below, 
Dimpled o'er with smiles. 

And the while the bonuj bird did pour 
His full heart out freely o'er and o'er 

'Xeath the morning skies, 
In the little childish heart below 
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, 
^Vnd shine forth in happy overflow 

From the blue, bright eyes. 

Down the dell she tripped and through the 

glade. 
Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade. 

And from out the tree 
SnTing, and leaped, and frolicked, void of 

fear, — 
While bold blackbird piped that all might 
hear — ■ 
"Little Bell," piped he. 

Little Bell sat down amid the fern — 
" Squirrel, squirrel to your task return — 

Bring me nuts," quoth she. 
Up, away the frisky squirrel hies — 
Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes — 

And adown the tree. 
Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun. 
In the little lap, dropped one by one — 
Ilark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun ! 
"Happy Bell," pipes he. 

Little Bell looked up and down the glade — 
" Squirrel, squirrel, if you 're not afraid. 

Come and share with me ! " 
Down came squirrel eager for his fare — 
Down came bonny blackbird I declare ; 
Little Bell gave each his honest share — 

Ah the merry three ! 
And the while these frolic playmates twain 
Piped and frisked from bough to bough 
again, 

'Neath the morning skies. 
In the little childish heart below 
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow. 
And shine out in happy overflow, 

From her blue, bright eyes. 

By her snow-white cot at close of day, 
Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray — 



Very calm and clear 
Eose the praying voice to where, unseen, 
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene 

Paused awhile to hear — 
""What good child is this," the angel said, 
" That with happy heart, beside her bed 

Prays so lovingly ? " 
Low and soft, oh! very low and soft. 
Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, 

"Bell, dear Bell ! " crooned he. 

" Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair 
Murmured, " God doth bless with angels' 
care ; 
Child, thy bed shall be 
Folded safe from harm — Love deep and kind. 
Shall watch around and leave good gifts be- 
hind. 
Little Bell, for thee ! " 

T. Westtvood, 



THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. 

My mother bore me in the southern wild. 
And I am black ; but, oh, my soul is white ! 
White as an angel is the English child, 
But I am black, as if bereaved of light. 

My mother taught me underneath. a tree; 
And, sitting down before the heat of day, 
She took me on her lap, and kissed me. 
And, pointing to the east, began to say : 



" Look on the rising sun ; there God does 

live. 
And gives his light, and gives his beat away ; 
And flowers, and trees, and beasts, and men, 

receive 
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 

" And we are put on earth a little space, 
That we may learn to bear the beams of love, 
And these black bodies and this sunburnt 

face 
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. 



160 



POEMS or CHILDHOOD, 



" For ■when our souls have learned the heat 
to bear, 

The clouds will vanish; we shall hear His 
voice, 

Saying : ' Come from the grove, ray love and 
care, 

x\nd round my golden tent like lambs re- 
joice.' " 

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me, 

And thus I say to little English boy : 

When I from black, and he from white cloud 

free. 
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, 

I 'II shade him from the heat, till he can bear 
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee ; 
And then I '11 stand and stroke his silver hair, 
And be like him, and he will then love me. 
William Blake. 



A CHILD PRAYING. 

FoT.D thy little hands in prayer. 

Bow down at thy mother's knee. 
Now thy sunny face is fair. 
Shining through thine auburn hair ; 

Tliine eyes are passion-free ; 
And pleasant thoughts, hke garlands, bind thee 
Unto thy home, yet grief may find thee — 
Then pray, child, pray ! 

Now, tliy young heart, like a bird, 

Warbles in its summer nest ; 
No evil tliought, no unkind word. 
No chilling autumn winds have stirred 

The beauty of thy rest ; 
But winter hastens, and decay 
Shall waste thy verdant home away — 
Then pray, child, pray! 

Thy bosom is a house of glee, 

With gladness harping at the door ; 
While ever, with a joyous shout, 
Hope, the May queen, dances out. 

Her lips with music running o' er ; 
But Time those strings of joy wiU sever, 
And hope will not dance on for ever — 
Then pray, child, pray ! 



Now, thy mother's arm is spread 
Beneath thy pillow in the night ; 

And loving feet creep round thy bed, 

And o'er thy quiet face is shed 
The taper's darkened light ; 

But that fond arm will pass away. 

By thee no more those feet will stay — 
Then pray, chUd, pray ! 

EOBEET AkI9 WiLLMOTT. 



TO A CHILD. 

TiiY memory, as a spell 

Of love, comes o'er my mind — 
As dew upon the purple bell — 

As perfume on the wind ; — 
As music on the sea — 

As sunshine on the river ; — 
So hath it always been to me. 

So shall it be for ever. 

1 hear thy voice in dreams 

Upon me softly call. 
Like echoes of the mountain streams. 

In sportive waterfall. 
I see thy form as when 

Thou wert a living thing. 
And blossomed in the eyes of men. 

Like any flower of spring. 

Thy soul to heaven hath fled. 

From eartldy thraldom free ; 
Yet, 't is not as the dead 

That thou appear'st to me. 
In slumber I behold 

Thy form, as when on earth, 
Thy locks of Vv'aA-ing gold. 

Thy sapphire aye of mirth. 

I hear, in solitude. 

The prattle kind and free 
Thou uttered'st in joyful mood 

While seated on my knee. 
So strong each vision seems 

My spirit that doth fill, 
I think not they are dreams, 

But that thou livest still. 

ANONT-Moira, 



LUCY. 



161 



LUCY. 

She dwelt among tliG natroddeu ways 

Beside the sin-iiigs of Dove, 
A maid whom there were none to praise, 

And very few to love : 

A violet by a mossy stone 

Half bidden from the eye ! 
-Fair as a star, when only one 
Is shining ia the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 

When Lucy ceased to be ; 
But she is in her grave, and, oh ! 

The difference to me ! 



Three years she grew In sun and shower ; 
Then Nature said : "xi lovelier flower 
On earth was never sown ; 
This child I to myself will take ; 
She shall be mine, and I will make 
A lady of my own. 

" Myself will to ray darling be 

Both law and impulse ; and with me 

The girl, iu rock and plain. 

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 

Shall feel an overseeing power. 

To kindle or restrain. 

"She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That wild with glee across the lawn 
Or np the mountain springs ; 
And hers shall bo the breathing balm. 
And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute insensate things. 

" The floating clouds their state shaU lend 
To her; for her the willow bend : 
Nor shall she fail to see, 
Even in the motions of the storm, 
Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 
By silent sympathy. 

" The stars of midnight shall be dear 
To her •, and she shall lean her ear 
In many a secret i)lace 
25 



"Where rivulets dance their v/ayward round 
And beauty born of murmuring sound 
Shall pass into her face. 

"And vital feelings of delight 
Shall rear her forin to stately height. 
Her virgin bosom swell ; 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
"While she and I together live 
Here in this happy dell." 

Thus Nature spake. — The work was done — 

How soon my Lucy's race was run ! 

She died, and left to me 

This heath, this calm, and quiet scene ; 

The memory of what has been. 

And never more will be. 

William Wokps'woeth. 



ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

A uosT of angels flying. 

Through cloudless skies impelled, 

Upon the earth beheld 
A pearl of beauty lying, 

"Worthy to glitter bright 

In heaven's vast hall of light. 

They saw with glances tender, 
An infant newly born. 
O'er whom life's earliest morn 

Just cast its opening splendor ; 
Virtue it could not know. 
Nor vice, nor joy, nor woe. 

The blest angelic legion 
Greeted its birth above. 
And came, with looks of love. 

From heaven's enchanting region ; 
Bending their winged way 
To where the infant lay. 

They spread their pinions o'er it,— 
That little pearl which shone 
T/ith lustre all its own, — 

And then on high they bore it, 
"VMiere glory has its birth ; — 
But left the shell on earth. 

Disk Smits. (Dutch.") 
Translation of II. S. Tax Dtk. 



162 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



MY PLAYMATES. 

I ONCE had a sister, oh fair 'inid tlie fair ! 
Witli a face that looked out from its soft 

golden hair, 
Like a lily some tall stately angel may hold. 
Half revealed, half concealed in a mist of 

pure gold. 
I once had a brother, more dear than the 

With a temper as sweet as the blossoms in 
May ; 

With dark hair like a cloud, and a face like 
a rose, 

The red child of the wild ! Avhen the sum- 
mer-wind blows. 

We lived in a cottage that stood in a dell ; 

Were Ave born there or brought there I never 
could tell ; 

Were we nursed by the angels, or clothed by 
the fays. 

Or, -who led when we fled down the deep 
sylvan ways, 
'Mid treasures of gold and of silver ! 

Wlien Ave rose in the morning Ave CA'er said 

" Hark ! " 
We shall hear, if Ave list, the first Avord of the 

lark ; 
And Ave stood Avith our faces, calm, silent, 

and bright. 
While the breeze in the trees held his breath 

with delight. 
Oh the stream ran with music, the leaves dript 

Avith deAV, 
And we looked up and saw the great God in 

the blue ; 
And Ave praised him and blessed him, but 

said not a word. 
For we soared, Ave adored, Avitli that magical 

bird. 
Tlien Avith liand linked in hand, how Ave 

laughed, hoAV we sung ! 
How Ave danced in a ring, when the morn- 
ing Avas young ! 
How Ave wandered Avhere kingcups Avere 

crusted with gold. 
Or more white than the light glittered daisies 

untold. 

Those treasures of gold and of sih'er ! 



Oh well I remember tlie tlowers that we found, 
With the red and white blossoms that dam- 
asked the ground ; 
And the long lane of light, that, half yellow, 

half green. 
Seemed to fade down the glade Avhere the 

young fairy queen 
Would sit Avith her fairies around her and 

sing. 
While Ave listened all ear, to that song of the 

Spring. 
Oh Avell I remember the lights in the Avest, 
And the spire, Avhere the fire of the sun 

seemed to rest. 
When the earth, crimson-shadowed, laughed 

out in the air, — 
Ah ! I '11 never believe but the fairies Avere 

there ; 
Such a feeling of loving and longing Avas ours, 
And Ave saw, Avith glad awe, little hands in 

the floAvers, 
Drop treasures of gold and of silver. 

Oh weep ye and wail ! for that sister, alas ! 
And that fair gentle brother lie Ioav in the 

grass ; 
Perchance the red robins may strew them 

Avith leaves, 
That each morn, for Avhite corn, Avould come 

down from the eaves ; 
Perchance of their dust the young violets are 

made, 
That bloom by the church that is hid in the 

glade ; 
But one day I shall learn, if I pass Avherc 

they groAv, 
Far more sweet they Avill greet their old play- 
mates,! knoAV. 
Ah ! the cottage is gone, and no longer I see 
The old glade, the old paths, and no lark 

sings for me ; 
But I still must believe that the faii'ies are 

there. 
That the light groAvs more bright, touched 

by fingers so fair, 
'Mid treasures of gold and of silver ! 

Anot.mi rs. 



THE MORNING-GLORY. 



163 



THE OPEJT WINDOW. 

The old house by tlic lindens 

Stood silent in the shade, 
And on the gravelled pathway 

The light and shadow jjlayed. 

I saw the nursery windows 

Wide open to the air ; 
But the faces of the children, 

They were no longer there. 

The large Newfoundland house-dog 

Was standing by the door ; 
He looked for his little playmates. 

Who would return no more. 

They walked not under the lindens, 
They played not in the hall ; 

But shadow, and silence, and sadness 
Were hanging over all. 

The birds sang in the branches, 

With sweet familiar tone ; 
But the voices of the children 

Will be heard in dreams alone ! 

And the boy that walked beside me, 

He could not understand 
Why closer in mine, ah ! closer, 

I pressed liis Avarra, soft hand ! 

HrjjKT Wadswokth Longfellow. 



SHE CAME AND WENT. 

As a twig trembles, which a bird 
Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent, 

So is my memory thrilled and stirred ; — 
I only know she came and went. 

As clasps some lake, by gusts unrivcn. 
The blue dome's measureless content, 

So my soul held that moment's heaven ;— 
I only know she came and went. 

As, at one bound, our swift Spring heaps 
The orchards full of bloom and scent, 

So clove her May my wintry sleeps ; — 
I only know she came and went. 



An angel stood and met my gaze. 

Through the low doorway of my tent ; 

The tent is struck, the vision stays : — 
I only know she came and went. 

Oil, when the room grows slowly dim, 
And when the oil is nearly spent, 

One gush of light these eyes will brim, 
Only to think she came and went. 

James El'ssell Loweli. 



THE MORN^ING-GLORY. 

We wreathed about our darling's head 

The morning-glory bright ; 
Her little face looked out beneath, 

So full of life and light, 
So lit as with a sunrise, 

That we could only say, 
" She is the morning-glory true. 

And her poor types are they." 

So always from that happy time 

We called her by their name, 
And very fitting did it seem — 

For sure as morning came. 
Behind her cradle bars she smiled 

To catch the first faint raj', 
As from the trellis smiles the fiower 

And opens to tlie day. 

But not so beautiful they rear 

Their airy cups of blue, 
As turned her sweet eyes to the light. 

Brimmed with sleep's tender dew ; 
And not so close their tendrils fine 

Round their supports are thrown. 
As those dear anns whose outstretched plea 

Clasped all hearts to her own. 

We used to think how she had come, 

Even as comes the flower, 
The last and perfect added gift 

To crown Love's morning hour ; 
And how in her was imaged forth 

The love we could not say, 
As on the little dewdrops round 

Shines back the heart of day. 



IC-i 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



We never could have thougLt, God, 

That she must wither up, 
Almost before a day was flown, 

Like the morning-glory's cup ; 
We never thought to see her droop 

Her fair and noble head, 
Till she lay stretclied before our eyes, 

Wilted, and cold, and dead ! 

The morning-glory's blossoming 

Will soon be coming round — 
We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves 

Upspringing from the ground ; 
The tender things the winter killed 

Eenew again their birth. 
But the glory of our morning 

Has passed away from earth. 

Oh, Earth ! in vain our aching eyes 

Stretch over thy green plain ! 
Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air, 

Her spirit to sustain ; 
But up in groves of Paradise 

Full surely we shall see 
Our morning-glory beautiful 

Twine round our dear Lord's knee. 

Maiiia "WniiE Lowell. 



PABY'S SHOES. 

On those little, those little blue shoes ! 

Those shoes that no little feet use. 
Oh the price were high 
That those shoes would buy. 

Those little blue unused shoes ! 

For they hold the small shape of feet 
That no more their mother's eyes meet. 

That, by God's good will. 

Years since, grew still. 
And ceased from their totter so sweet. 

And oh, since that baby slept. 

So hushed, how the mother has kept. 

With a tearful pleasure. 

That little dear treasure, 
And o'er them tliought and Avept! 



For they mind her for evermore 
Of a patter along the floor ; 

And blue eyes she sees 

Look up from her knees 
With the look that in life they Avore. 

As they lie before her there, 
There babbles from chair to chair 
A little sweet face 
That's a gleam in the place. 
With its little gold curls of liair. 

Then oh, wonder not that her heart 
From all else would rather part 
Than those tiny blue shoes 
That no little feet use. 
And whose sight makes such fond tears stai 1 1 
WiLLiAii C. Bennett. 



THE THREE SONS. 

I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years 

old, 
With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind 

of gentle mould. 
They tell me that nnusual grace in all his 

ways appears. 
That my child is grave and wise of heart be- 
yond his childish years. 
I cannot say how tins may be ; I know his 

face is fair — 
And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet 

and serious air ; 
I know his heart is kind and fond ; I know- 
he loveth me ; 
But loveth yet his mother more with grateful 

fervency. 
But that which others most admire, is the 

thought which tills his mind, 
The food for grave inquiring speech he every 

where doth find. 
Strange questions doth he ask of me, when 

we together Avalk ; 
He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks 

as children talk. 
Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes 

not on bat or ball, 
But looks on manhood's ways and works, and 

aptly mimics all. 



THE THREE SONS. 



1 have a son, a second son, a simple cliild of 

three ; 
I '11 not declare how bright and fair his little 

features be, 
[low silvcu" sweet tliose tones of his when he 

prattles on my knee ; 
[ do not think his light-blue eye is, like his 

brother's, keen, 
N'or his brow so full of childish thought as 

his hath ever been; 
13ut his little heart's a fountain pure of kind 

and tender feeling ; 
And his every look 's a gleam of light, rich 

depths of love revealing. 
When he walks with me, the country folk, 

who pass us in the street, 
^yill shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks 

so mild and sweet. 
\ playfellow is he to all ; and yet, with 

cheerful tone, 
Will sing his little song of love, Avheu left to 

sport alone, 
[lis presence is like sunshine sent to gladden 

home and heartli, 
To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten 

all our mirth. 
Should ho grow up to riper years, God grant 

his heart may prove 
As sweet a liome for heavenly grace as now 

for eartldy love; 
And if, beside his grave, the tears our acJiing 

eyes must dim, 
God comfort us for all the love which we 

shall lose in liim. 



His little lieart is busy still, and oftentimes 

perplext 
With thoughts about this Avorld of ours, and 

thoughts about the next, 
lie kneels at his dear mother's knee; she 

teacheth him to pray ; 
And strange, and sweet, and solemn then are 

the words which he will say. 
Oh, should my gentle child be spared to man- 
hood's years like me, 
A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will 

be; 
And when I look into his eyes, and stroke 

his thoughtful brow, 
I dare not think what I should feel, were I to 

lose him now. 



165 
age I 



I have a son, a third sweet son ; his 

cannot tell. 
For they reckon not by years and months 

Avhere he is gone to dwell. 
To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant 

smiles were given ; 
And then he bade farewell to Earth, and went 

to live in Heaven. 
I cannot tell Avhat form is his, Avhat looks ho 

weareth now, 
Xor guess how bright a glory crowns his 

shining seraph brow. 
The thoughts tliat fill his sinless soul, the bliss 

which he doth feel. 
Are numbered with the secret things which 

God will not reveal. 
But I know (for God hath told me this) that 

he is now at rest. 
Where other blessed infants be, on their Sa- 
viour's loving breast. 
I know his spirit feels no more this weary 

load of flesh, 
But his sleep is blessed with endless dreams 

of joy for ever fresh. 
I know the angels fold him close beneath 

their glittering wings, 
And soothe him with a song that breathes of 

Heaven's divinest things. 
I know that we shall meet our babe, (liis 

mother dear and I,) 
Where God for aye shall wipe away all tears 

from every eye. 
W^hate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss 

can never cease ; 
Their lot may here be grief and fear, but his 

is certain peace. 
It may be that the tempter's wiles their souls 

from bliss may sever ; 
But, if our own poor faith fail not, he must 

be ours for ever. 
When we think of what our darling is, and 

what we still must be — 
When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, 

and this Avorld's misery — 
Wiien we groan beneath this load of sin, and 

feel this grief and pain — 
Oh ! Ave 'd rather lose our other two, thai 

have him here again. 

John Motjlteie 



166 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD, 



THRENODY. 

The South-wind brings 

Life, sunshine, and desire, 

And on every mount and meadow 

Breathes aromatic fire ; 

But over the dead he has no power ; 

The lost, the lost, he cannot restore ; 

And, looking over the hills, I mourn 

The darling who shall not return. 

I see my empty house ; 

I see my trees repair their boughs ; 

And he, the wondrous child, 

"Whose silver warble wild 

Outvalued every pulsing sound 

Within the air's cerulean round — 

The hyacinthine boy, for whom 

Morn well might break and April bloom — 

Tlie gracious boy, who did adorn 

riie world whereinto he was born, 

And by his countenance repay 

The favor of the loving Day — 

Has disappeared from the Day's eye ; 

Far and wide she cannot find him ; 

My hopes pursue, they cannot bind him. 

Returned this day, the South-wind searches. 

And finds young pines and budding birches; 

But finds not tlie budding man ; 

I^J'ature, who lost him, cannot remake him ; 

Fate let him fall. Fate can't retake him; 

i^ature, Fate, Men, him seek in vain. 

And whither now, my truant wise and sweet. 

Oh, whither tend thy feet? 

I had the right, few days ago, 

Thy steps to watch, thy i>lace to know ; 

How have I forfeited the riglit ? 

Hast thou forgot me in a new delight ? 

I hearken for thy household cheer, 

eloquent child! 

"Whose voice, an equal messenger, 

Conveyed thy meaning mild. 

What though the pains and joys 

Whereof it spoke were toys 

Fitting his age and ken, 

Yet fairest dames and bearded men. 

Who heard the sweet request. 

So gentle, wise, and grave. 

Bended with joy to his behest, 



And let the world's aftairs go by, 
Awhile to share his cordial game, 
Or mend his wicker wagon-frame, 
Still plotting how their Imngry ear 
That winsome voice again might hear ; 
For his lips could well pronounce 
Words that were persuasions. 

Gentlest guardians marked serene 
His early hope, his liberal mien ; 
Took counsel from his guiding eyes 
To make this wisdom earthly wise. 
Ah, vainly do these eyes recall 
The school-march, each day's festival, 
When every morn my bosom glowed 
To watch the convoy on the road ; 
The babe in willow wagon closed. 
With rolling eyes and face composed ; 
With children forward and behind, 
Like Cupids studiously inclined ; 
And he the chieftain paced beside. 
The centre of the troop allied. 
With sunny face of sweet repose, 
To guard the babe from fancied foes. 
The little captain innocent 
Took the eye with him as he went ; 
Each village senior paused to scan 
And speak the lovely caravan. 
From the window I look out 
To mark thy beautiful parade. 
Stately marching in cap and coat 
To some tune by fairies played ; 
A music, heard by thee alone. 
To works as noble led thee on. 

ISTow Love and Pride, alas ! in vain, 

Up and down their glances strain. 

The painted sled stands where it stood ; 

The kennel by the corded wood ; 

I'he gathered sticks to stanch the wall 

Of the snow-tower, when snow should fall ; 

The ominous hole he dug in the sand, 

And childhood's castles built or planned ; 

His daily haunts I well discern — 

The poultry-yard, the shed, the barn — 

And every inch of garden ground 

Paced by the blessed feet around, 

From the roadside to the brook 

Whereinto he loved to look. 

Step the meek birds where erst they ranged 

The wintry garden lies unchanged; 



THRENODY. 167 


The brook into the stream runs on ; 


Ilis beauty once their beauty tried ; 


lUit tlie deep-eyed hoy is gone. 

On that shaded day, 

I )ark with more clouds than tempests are, 

^\■llen thou didst yield thy innocent breath 

In birdlike hearings unto death. 

Night came, and Nature had not thee ; 


They could not feed him, and he died. 
And wandered backward as in scorn, 
To wait an ajon to be born. 
Ill day which made this beauty waste, 
Plight broken, this high face def;iced! 
Some went and came about the dead ; 
And some in books of solace read ; 


I said: "We are mates in misery." 

The morrow dawned with needless glow ; 

Each snowbird chirped, each fowl must crow; 

Each tramper started ; but the feet 

Of the most beautiful and sweet 

Of human youtli had left the hill 

And garden — they were bound and still. 


Some to their friends the tidings say ; 

Some went to write, some went to pray ; 

One tarried here, there hurried one ; 

But their heart abode with none. 

Covetous Death bereaved us all. 

To aggrandize one funeral. 

The eager fate which carried thee 


There 's not a sparrow or a wren. 
There 's not a blade of Autumn grain, 
Whicli the four seasons do not tend, 
And tides of life and increase lend; 
And every cliick of every bird. 
And weed and rock-moss is preferred. 


Took the largest part of me. 
For this losing is true dying ; 
This is lordly man's down-lying, 
This his slow but sure reclining. 
Star by star his world resigning. 


Oil, ostrich-like forgetfnlness ! 
Oh loss of larger in the less! 


child of Paradise, 

Boy who made dear his father's home. 


Was there no star that could be sent, 


In Avhose deep eyes 


No watcher in the firmament, 


Men read the welfare of tfee times to come, 


Xo angel from the countless host 


I am too much bereft. 


That loiters round the crystal coast. 


The world dishonored thou hast left. 


Could stoop to heal that only child. 


Oh, truth's and nature's costly lie! 


Nature's sweet marvel undefiled. 


Oh, trusted broken prophecy ! 


And keep the blossom of the earth. 


Oh richest fortune sourly crossed ! 


Wiiicli !ill her harvests Avere not worth? 


Born for the future, to the future lost! 


Not mine — I never called thee mine. 




But Nature's heir- — if I repine, 


The deep Heart answered: " Weepest thouf 


And seeing rashly torn and moved 


Worthier cause for passion wild 


Not what I made, but Avhat I loved, 


If I had not taken the child. 


Grew early old with grief that thou 


And deemest thou as those who pore. 


Must to the wastes of Nature go — 


With aged eyes, short way before — 


'Tis because a general hope 

Was quenched, and all must doubt and grope. 

For flattering planets seemed to say 


Think'st Beauty vanished from the coast 
Of matter, and thy darling lost ? 
Taught he not thee — the man of eld. 


This child should ills of ages stay. 


Whose eyes within his eyes beheld 


By wondrous tongue, and guided pen, 


Heaven's numerous hierarchy span 


Bring the flown Muses back to men. 


The mystic gulf from God to man? 


Perchance not he, but Nature, ailed ; 


To be alone wilt thou begin 


The world and not the infant foiled. 


When worlds of lovers hem thee in ? 


It was not ripe yet to sustain 


To-morrow when the masks shall fall 


A genius of so fine a strain, 


That dizen Nature's carnival. 


Who gazed upon the sun and moon 
As if lie came unto his own ; 


The pure shall see by their own will, 
Which overflowing Love shall fill, 


And, pregnant with his grander thought, 


'Tis not within the force of Fate 


Uronglit the old order into doubt. 


The fate-conjoined to separate. 



168 POEMS or CHILDHOOD. 

— — — " — 


But thou, my votary, weepest thou ? 


Life is life which generates ; 


I gave thee siglit — where is it now ? 


And many-seeming life is one — 


I taught thy heart beyond the reach 


Wilt thou transfix and make it none ? 


Of ritual, hible, or of speech ; 


Its onward force too starkly pent 


Wrote in thy mind's transparent table. 


In figure, bone, and lineament? 


As far as the incommunicable ; 


Wilt thou, uncalled, interrogate. 


Taught thee each private sign to raise, 


Talker ! the unreplying Fate ? 


Lit by the super-solar blaze. 


Nor see the genius of the whole 


Past utterance, and past belief, 


Ascendant in the private soul, 


And past the blasphemy of grief, 


Beckon it when to go and come, 


The mysteries of Nature's heart ; 


Self-announced its hour of doom? 


And though no Muse can these impart, 


Fair the soul's recess and shrine, 


Throb thine with Nature's throbbing breast. 


Magic-built to last a season ; 


And all is clear from east to west. 


Masterpiece of love benign ; 


i 
I 


Fairer than expansive reason, 


" I came to thee as to a friend ; 


Whose omen 'tis, and sign. 


Dearest, to thee I did not send 


Wilt thou not ope thy heart to know 


Tutors, but a joyful eye, 


What rainbows teach, and sunsets show ? 


Innocence that matched the sky, 


Verdict which accumulates 


Lovely locks, a form of wonder. 


From lengthening scroll of human fates. 


Laughter rich as Avoodland thunder, 


Voice of earth to earth returned, 


Tliat thou might'st entertain apart 


Prayers of saints that inly burned — 


The richest flowering of all art ; 


Saying: WJiat is excellent, 


And, as the great all-loving Day 


As God lives, is permanent ; 


Through smallest chambers takes its way, 


Hearts are dust, liearts'' loves remain : 


That thou might'st break thy daily bread 


Hearts'' love will meet thee again. 


With proi)het, saviour, and head ; 


Revere the Maker ; fetch thine eye 


That thou might'st cherish for thine own 


Up to his style, and manners of the sky. 


I The riches of sweet Mary's son. 


Not of adamant and gold 


Boy-rabbi, Israel's paragon. 


Built he heaven stark and cold ; 


And thoughtest thou such guest 


No, but a nest of bending reeds, 


Would in thy hall take up his rest? 


Flowering grass, and scented weeds ; 


Would rushing life forget her laws, 


Or like a traveller's fleeing tent. 


Fate's glowing revolution pause ? 


Or bow above the tempest bent ; 


High omens ask diviner guess, 


Built of teai's and sacred flames, 


] Not to be conned to tediousness. 


And virtue reaching to its aims ; 


j And know my higher gifts unbind 


Built of furtherance and pursuing. 


1 The zone that girds the incarnate mind. 


Not of spent deeds, but of doing. 


j When the scanty shores are full 


Silent rushes the £Avift Lord 


! With Thought's perilous, whirling pool ; 


Through ruined systems still restored. 


When frail Nature can no more. 


Broadsowing, bleak and void to bless, 


Then the Spirit strikes the hour : 


Plants with worlds the wilderness; 


Jily servant Death, with solving rite, 


Waters with tears of ancient sorrow 


Pours finite into infinite. 


Apples of Eden ripe to-morrow. 




House and tenant go to ground. 


" Wilt thou freeze Love's tidal flow, 


Lost in God, in Godhead found." . 


Whose streams through Nature circling go ? 


Ealph "Waldo Emeksom 


Nail the wild star to its track 




On the half-climbed zodiac ? 




Light is light which radiates ; 




Blood is blood which circulates ; 





OASA WAPPY. 



169 



CASA AYAPPY.* 

And iiast tliou souglit tliy heavenly home, 

Our fond, dear boy — 
Tlie realms where sorrow dare not come, 

"Where life is joy ? 
Pure at thy death, as at thy birth. 
Thy spirit caught no taint from earth; 
Even by its bliss we mete our dearth, 
Casa "Wappy ! 

Despair was in our last farewell. 

As closed thine eye ; 
Tears of our anguish may not tell 

When thou didst die ; 
Words may not paint our grief for thee ; 
Sighs are but bubbles on the sea 
Of our unfathomed agony ; 
Casa Wappy ! 

Thou wert a vision of delight, 

To bless us given ; 
Beauty embodied to our sight — 

A type of heaven ! 
So dear to us thou wert, thou art 
Even less thine own self, than a part 
Of mine, and of thy mother's heart, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Thy bright, brief day knew no decline — 

'T was cloudless joy ; 
Sunrise and night alone were thine, 

Beloved boy ! 
This moon beheld thee blythe and gay ; 
That found thee prostrate in decay ; 
And ere a tlurd shone, clay was clay, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Gem of our hearth, our household pride. 

Earth's undeliled. 
Could love have saved, tliou hadst not died, 

Our dear, sweet child ! 
Humbly we bow to Fate's decree ; 
Yet had we hoped that Time should see 
Thee mourn for us, not us for thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 



* The solf-appoUativc of a beloved eliilJ 

26 



Do what I may, go where I will. 

Thou meet'st my sight ; 
There dost thou glide before me still — 

A form of light ! 
I feel thy breath upon my cheek — 
I see thee smile, I bear thee speak — 
Till oh ! my heart is like to break, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Methinks thou smil'st before me now, 

With glance of stealth ; 
The hair thrown back from thy full brow 

In buoyant health ; 
I see thine eyes' deep violet light — 
Thy dimpled cheek carnationed bright — 
Thy clasping arras so round and white — 
Casa Wappy ! 

The nursery shows thy pictured wall, 

Thy bat — thy bow — 
Thy cloak and bonnet — club and ball ; 

But where art thou ? 
A corner holds thine empty chair ; 
Thy playthings, idly scattered there, 
But speak to us of our despair, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Even to the last, thy every word — 

To glad — to grieve — 
Was sweet, as sweetest song of bird 

On Summer's eve ; 
In outward beauty undecayed, 
Death o'er thy spirit cast no shade. 
And, like the rainbow, thou didst fade, 
Casa Wappy ! 

W^e mourn for thee, Avhen blind, blank night 

The chamber fills ; 
We pine for thee, when morn's first liglii 

Reddens the hills ; 
The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea. 
All — to the wall-flower and wild-pea — 
Are changed ; we saw the world thro' tlvj ., 
Casa Wappy ! 

And though, perchance, a smile may gleam 

Of casual mirth, 
It doth not own, whate'er may seem, 

An inward birth ; 



170 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



We miss tliy small step on the stair ; — 
We miss thee at thine evening prayer ; 
All day we miss thee — every where — 
Oasa AVappy ! 

Snows muffled earth when thou didst go, 

In life's spring-bloom, 
Down to tlie appointed house below — 

The silent tomb. 
But now the green leaves of the tree, 
The cuckoo, and " the busy bee," 
Return — but with them bring not thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

'T is so ; but can it be — while flowers 

Eevive again — 
Man's doom, in death that we and ours 

For aye remain ? 
Oh ! can it be, that, o'er the grave, 
The grass renewed should yearly wave, 
Yet God forget our child to save ? — 
Casa Wappy ! 

It cannot be ; for were it so 

Thus man could die, 
Life were a mockery — thought Avere woe- 

And truth a lie ; — 
Heaven were a coinage of the brain — 
Keligion frenzy — virtue vain — 
And all our hopes to meet again, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Then be to us, dear, lost child I 

With beam of love, 
A star, death's uncongenial wild 

Smiling above ! 
Soon, soon, thy little feet have trod 
The skyward path, the seraph's road, 
That led thee back from man to God, 
Casa Wappy I 

Yet, 't is sweet balm to our despair. 

Fond, fairest boy, 
Th.at Heaven is God's, and thou art there. 

With him in joy ; 
There past are death and all its woes ; 
There beauty's stream for ever flows ; 
And pleasure's day no sunset knows, 
Casa Wappy ! 



Farewell then — for a while, farewell — 

Pride of my heart ! 
It cannot be that long we dwell, 

Thus torn apart. 
Time's shadows like the shuttle flee ; 
And, dark howe'er life's night may be. 
Beyond the grave, I '11 meet with thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

David Macbeth Moih. 



MY CHILD. 

I CANNOT make him dead ! 

His fair sunshiny head 
Is ever bounding round my study chair ; 

Yet, when my eyes, now dim 

With tears, I turn to him. 
The vision vanishes — he is not there ! 

I walk my parlour floor. 

And, through the open door, 
I hear a footfall on the chamber stair ; 

I 'm stepping toward the hall 

To give the boy a call ; 
And then bethink me that — he is not there ' 

I thread the crowded street ; 

A satchelled lad I meet. 
With the same beaming eyes and colored hair ; 

And, as he 's running by, 

Follow him with my eye. 
Scarcely believing that — he is not there ! 

I know his face is hid 

Under the coffin lid ; 
Closed are his eyes ; cold is his forehead fair ; 

My hand that marble felt ; 

O'er it in prayer I knelt ; 
Yet my heart whispers that — he is not there ! 

I cannot make liim dead ! 

AVhen passing by the bed, 
So lon^ watched over with parental care, 

My spirit and my eye 

Seek him inquiringly. 
Before the thought comes that — he is not 
there ! 



FOR CHARLIE'S SAKE. 



11} 



When, at the cool, gray break 

Of clay, from sleep I wake, 
With my first breathing of tlie morning air 

My soul goes up, with joy, 

To Him who gave my boy ; 
Then comes the sad thought that — he is not 
there ! 

When at the clay's calm close. 

Before we seek repose, 
I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer; 

Whate'er I may be saying, 

I am ua spirit praying 
For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there ! 

Xot there! — WTiere, then, is he? 

The form I used to see 
Was but the raiment that he used to wear. 

The grave, that now doth press 

Upon that cast-off dress, 
Is but his wardrobe locked ; — he is not there I 

He lives ! — In aU the past 

He lives ; nor, to the last. 
Of seeing him again wiU I despair ; 

In dreams I see him now ; 

And, on his angel brow, 
I see it written, " Thou shalt see me tJiere ! 

Yes, we all live to God I 

Father, thy chastening rod 
So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, 

That, iu the spirit land, 

Meeting at thy right hand, 
'T will be our heaven to find that — he is 
there ! 

John Pierpont. 



LOSS AisD GAIX. 

When the baby died, we said, 
With a sudden, secret dread : 
"Death, be merciful, and pass; — 
Leave the other ! " — but alas ! 

While Ave watched he waited there. 
One foot on the golden stair, 
One hand beckoning at the gate, 
Till the home was desolate. 



Friends say, " It is better so, 
Clothed in Innocence to go ;"' 
Say, to ease the parting pain. 
That " your loss is but their gain." 

Ah ! the parents think of this ! 
But remember more the Idss 
From the httle rose-red lips ; 
And the print of finger-tips. 

Left upon the broken toy. 
Will remind them how the boy 
And his sister chai'med the days 
With their pretty, winsome ways. 

Only time can give relief 
To the weary, lonesome grief ; 
God's sweet minister of pain 
Then shall sing of loss and gain. 

NoKA Peket 



FOR CHAELIE'S S^VKE. 

The night is late, the house is still ; 

The angels of the hour fulfil 

Their tender ministries, and move 

From couch to couch, in cares of love. 

They drop into thy dreams, sweet wife, 

The happiest smile of Charlie's life, 

And lay on baby's lips a kiss, 

Fresh from his angel-brother's bliss ; 

And, as they pass, they seem to make 

A strange, dim hjinn, "For Charlie's sake." 

My listening heart takes up the strain, 
And gives it to the night again. 
Fitted with words of lowly praise, 
And patience learned of mournful days. 
And memories of the dead child's ways. 

His will be done, His will be done! 
Who gave and took away my son, 
In " the far land " to shine and sing 
Before the Beautiful, the King, 
Who every day doth Christmas make, 
All starred and belled for Chaiiie's sake. 

For Charlie's sake I will arise ; 
I will anoint me where he lies, 



172 



POEMS OF CIIILDHOOD. 



And change my raiment, and go in 

To the Lord's honse, and leave my sin 

"Without, and seat me at liis board. 

Eat, and be glad, and praise the Lord. 

For wherefore should I fast and weep, 

And sullen moods of mourning keep ? 

I cannot bring him back, nor he; 

For any calling come to m.e. 

The bond the angel Death did sign, 

God sealed — for Charhe's sake, and mine. 

I 'm very poor — this slender stone 

Marks all the narrow field I own ; 

Yet, patient husbandman, I till 

With faith and prayers, that precious hill. 

Sow it with penitential pains, 

And, hopeful, wait the latter rains ; 

Content if, after all, the spot 

Yield barely one forget-rae-not — 

Wliether or figs or thistles make 

My crop, content for Charlie's sake. 

I have no houses, builded well — 

Only that little lonesome cell, 

Where never romping playmates come, 

Nor bashful sweethearts, cunning-dumb — 

An April burst of girls and boys. 

Their rainbowed cloud of glooms and joys 

Born with their songs, gone with their toys ; 

Nor ever is its stillness stirred 

By purr of cat, or chirp of bird, 

Or mother's twilight legend, told 

Of Horner's pie, or Tiddler's gold, 

Or fairy hobbling to the door, 

Red-cloaked and weird, banned and poor. 

To bless the good child's gracious eyes. 

The good child's Avistful charities. 

And crippled changeling's liunch to make 

Dance on his crutch, for good child's sake. 

now is it with the child ? 'T is well ; 

Nor would I any mh'acle 

Might stu' my sleeper's tranquil trance, 

Or plague his painless countenance : 

I would not any seer might place 

His staff on my immortal's face. 

Or lip to lip, and eye to eye. 

Charm back his pale mortality. 

No, Shunaiiimite ! I would not break 

God's stillness. Let them weep who wake. 



For Charlie's sake my lot is blest: 
No comfort like his mother's breast. 
No praise like her's ; no charm expressed 
In fairest forms hath half her zest. 
For Charhe's sake this bird 's caressed 
That death left lonely in the nest ; 
For Charlie's sake my heart is dressed, 
As for its birthday, in its best ; _ 
For Cliarlie's sake we leave the rest 
To Him who gave, and Vt'ho did take. 
And saved us twice, for Charlie's sake. 

John "Williamson Palmer, 



THE WIDOW AND CHILD. 

Home they brought her warrior dead ; 

She nor swooned, nor uttered cry ; 
All her maidens, watching, said, 

" She must weep or she will die." 

/ 
Then they praised him, soft and low. 

Called him worthy to be loved, 
Truest friend and noblest foe ; 

Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 

Stole a maiden from her place, 
Lightly to the warrior stept. 

Took a face-cloth from the face, 
Yet she neither moved nor wept. 

Rose a nurse of ninety years, 
Set his child upon her knee^ 

Like summer tempest came her tears — 
" Sweet my child, I live for thee." 

Alfred Tennyson. 



THE RECONCILIATION. 

As through the lahd at eve we went, 

And plucked the ripened ears, 
We fell out, my wife and I, — 
Oh, we fell out, I know not why, 
And kissed again with tears. 

For when we came where lies the child 

We lost in other years. 
There above the little grave, 
Oh, there above the little grave. 

We kissed again with tears. 

Alfeed Tennyson. 



PART III. 



POEMS OF F R I E N D S II I r 



GiEB treulich mir die Hiiiide, 
Sei Bruder mir, und wende 
Den Blick, vor deincm Ende, 
Nicht wieder weg vou mir. 
Eiu Tempel wo wir kuien, 
Ein Ort wohiii wir Ziehen, 
Ein Gliick fur das wir gluhen, 
Ein Himmel mir und dir ! 

NOVALIS, 



Then let the chill sirocco blow 

And gird ns round with hills of snow ; 

Or else go whistle to the shore, 

And make the hollow mountains roar; 

Whilst we together jovial sit 
Careless, and crowned with mirth and wit ; 
Where, though bleak winds confine us home, 
Our fliucies round the world shall roam. 

We'll think of all the friends we know, 
And drink to all worth drinking to ; 
When, having drank all thine and mine, 
We rather shall want health than wine. 

But where friends fail us, we'll supply 
Our friendships with our charity ; 
Slen that remote in sorrows live, 
Shall by our lusty brimmers thrive, 

\Ve '11 drink the wanting into wealth, 
And those that languish into health, 



The afflicted into joy, th' oppresl 
Into security and rest. 

The worthy in disgrace shall find 
Favor return again more kind ; 
And in restraint who stifled lie. 
Shall taste the air of liberty. 

The brave shall triumph in success ; 
The lovers shall have mistresses ; 
Poor imregarded virtue, praise ; 
And the neglected poet, bays. 

Thus shall our healths do others good. 
Whilst we ourselves do all we would ; 
For, freed from envy and from care. 
What would we be, but what we are ? 

'Tis the plump grape's immortal juice 
That does this happiness produce. 
And will preserve us free together, 
Maugre mischance, or wind and weather. 

Chables Cottoh 



POEMS OF FPJENDSHIP. 



EAELY FPJENDSniP. 

The half-seen memories of childish days, 
When pains and pleasures lightly came and 

went; 
The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent 
In fearful wanderings through forbidden 

ways ; 
The vague, but manly wish to tread the maze 
Of life to noble ends ; whereon intent. 
Asking to know for what man here is sent, 
The bravest heart must often pause, and 

gaze — 
The firm resolve to seek the chosen end 
Of manhood's judgment, cautious and mature : 
Each of these viewless bonds binds friend to 

friend 
With strength no selfish purpose can secure ; — 
My happy lot is this, that all attend 
That friendship which first came, and which 

shall last endure. 

ACBKET De YeEE. 



WHEN" Sn.\LL WE THREE MEET 
AGAKT. 

When shall we three meet again? 
When shall we three meet again ? 
Oft shall glowing hope expire. 
Oft shall wearied love retire 
Oft shall death and sorrow reign, 
Ere we three shall meet again. 

Though in distant lands we sigh. 
Parched beneath a hostile sky; 



Though the deep between us rolls, 
Friendship shall unite our souls. 
Still in Fancy's rich domain 
Oft shall we three meet again. 

When the dreams of life are fled. 
When its wasted lamps are dead ; 
When in cold oblivion's shade, 
Beautj", power, and fame are laid ; 
Where immortal spirits reign. 
There shall we three meet again. 

Asoj;t.\iou8. 



SOXNETS. 

WiiEX I do count the clock that tells the 

time, 
And see the brave day sunk in hideous 

night ; 
When I behold the violet past prime. 
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white ; 
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd. 
And Summer's green all girded up in sheaves, 
Borne on the bier with white and bristly 

beard ; 
Then, of thy beauty do I question make, 
That thou among the wastes of time must go, 
Since sweets and beauties do themselves for- 
sake. 
And die as fast as they see others grow ; 
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can 

make defence, 
Save breed, to brave him, when he takes 
thee hence. 



/ 



176 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



Shall I compare thee to a saramcr's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate ; 
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of 

May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date. 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
And often is his gold complexion dimmed. 
And every fair from fair sometime declines. 
By chance, or nature's changing course, un- 

trimmed ; 
But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in liis 

shade. 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest. 
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can 

see, 
So long lives this, and this gives life to 

thee. 



So is it not with me as with that Muse, 
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse ; 
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use. 
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ; 
Making a compliment of proud compare. 
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's 

rich gems. 
With April's first-born flowers, and all things 

rare 
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. 
Oh let me, true in love, but truly write. 
And then believe me, my love is as fair 
As any mother's child, though not so bright 
As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air : 

Let them say no more that like of hearsay 
well ; 

I will not praise, that purpose not to sell. 



Let those who are in favor with their stars, 
Of pubhc honor and proud titles boast ; 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumphs 

bars, 
Unlooked-for joy in that I honor most. 
Great princes' favorites their fair leaves 

spread, 
But as the marigold, at the sun's eye; 



And in themselves their pride lies buried. 
For at a frown they in their glory die. 
The painful warrior famoused for fight. 
After a thousand victories once foiled. 
Is from the book of honor rased quite. 
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled. 
Then happy I, that love and am beloved. 
Where I may not remove nor be removed. 



When in disgrace with fortune and men's 

eyes, 
I all alone beweep my outcast state. 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless 

cries. 
And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
Wishing me hke to one more rich in hope, 
Featured like him, like him with friends pos- 
sessed. 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
With what I most enjoy contented least; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despis- 
ing. 
Haply I think on thee, and then my state 
(Like to the lark at break of day arismg 
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's 
gate. 
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth 

brings, 
That then I scorn to change my state with 
kint?s. 



When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
I summon up remembrance of things past, 
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. 
And with old woes new wail my dear time's 

waste. 
Then, can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless 

night. 
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled 

woe. 
And moan th' expense of many a vanished 

sight. 
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan. 
Which I new pay, as if not paid before ; 



SONNETS. 



But if the while I think on thee, dear 

friend, 
All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 

TiiY bosom is endeared with all hearts, 
"Which I by lacking have supposed dead; 
And there reigns love, and all love's loving 

parts, 
And all those friends which I thought buried. 
How many a holy and obsequious tear 
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, 
As interest of the dead, which now appear 
But things removed, that hidden in thee lie ! 
Thou art the grave where buried love doth 

live. 
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 
Who all their parts of me to thee did give; 
That due of many now is thine alone : 
Their images I loved I vic\y in thee, 
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. 

Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye. 
Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy ; 
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
And from the forlorn world his visage hide. 
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace. 
Even so my sun one early morn did shiue, 
With all triumphant splendor on my brow ; 
But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine, 
The region cloud hath masked him from me 

now. 
Yet him for this my love no whit disdain- 

eth; 
Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's 

sun staineth. 



Why didst thou promise such a beauteous 

And make me travel forth without my cloak. 
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way. 
Hiding thy bravery in theu' rotten smoke? 
'T is not enough that through the cloud thou 

break, 
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face. 
For no man well of such a salve can speak, 
27 



That heals the wound, and cures not the dis- 
grace ; 
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief — 
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss : 
Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief 
To him that bears the strong offence's cross. 
Ah, but those tears are pearl, which thy 

love sheds. 
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 

What is your substance, whereof are you 

made. 
That millions of strange shadows on you 

tend? 
Since every one hath, every one, one shade. 
And you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
Is poorly imitated after you ; 
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set. 
And you in Grecian tires are painted new : 
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year — 
The one doth shadow of your beauty show. 
The other as your bounty doth appear ; 
And you in every blessed shape we know. 
In all external grace you have some part ; 
But you like none, none you, for constant 

heart. 

On, how much more doth beauty beauteous 

seem. 
By that sweet ornament which truth dotli 

give! 
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
For that sweet odor which doth in it live. 
The canker-blooms have fuU as deep a dye 
As the perfumed tincture of the roses — 
Ilang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
When summer's breath their masked buds 

discloses ; 
But, for their virtue only is their show ; 
They live unwooed, and unrespected fade - 
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors 

made : 
.And so of you beauteous and lovely youth, 
When that shall fade, my verse distils your 

truth. 

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme ; 



178 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



But you shall shine moro bright iu these con- 
tents 
Tlian unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish 

time. 
When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 
And broils root out the works of masonry, 
"Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire 

shall burn 
The li-sdng record of your memory. 
'Gainst death and all obli-\aous enmity 
Shall you pace forth : your praise shall still 

find room 
Even in the eyes of all posterity. 
That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
So, till the judgment that yourself arise, 
You live in this, and dwell in lovei's' eyes. 

William Shakespeaee. 



FEOM "IN MEMOPJAM." 

I EXVT not, in any moods, 
The captive void of noble rage. 
The linnet born within tlie cage. 

That never knew the summer woods. 

I envy not the beast that takes 
His license in the field of time, 
Unfettered by the sense of crime, 

To whom a conscience never wakes : 

Nor, what may count itself as blest, 
The heart that never pliglited troth. 
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth — 

Nor any want-begotten rest. 

I hold it true, whate'er befall — 
I feel it, when I sorrow most — 
'T is better to have loved and lost 

Than never to have loved at all. 



Wixn trembling fingers did we weave 
The holly round the Christmas hearth ; 
A rainy cloud possessed the eai'th 

And sadly fell our Christmas eve. 

At our old pastimes in the hall 
We gambolled, making vain pretence 
Of gladness, with an awful sense 

Of one mute Shadow watching all. 



We paused ; the winds were in the beech — 
We heard them sweep the winter land ; 
And in a circle hand in hand 

Sat silent, looking each at each. 

Then echo-hke our voices rang ; 

We sang, tliough every eye was dim — 
A merry song we sang with him 

Last year — ^impetuously Ave sang ; 

We ceased. A gentler feeling crept 

Upon us ; surely rest is meet : 

" They rest," we said, " their sleep is sweet.' 
And silence followed, and we wept. 

Our voices took a higher range ; 

Once more we sang : " They do not die, 
Nor lose their mortal sympathy, 

Nor change to us, although tliey change ; 

" Eapt from the fickle and the frail. 
With gathered power, yet the same. 
Pierces the keen seraphic flame 

From orb to orb, from veil to veil. 

"Rise, happy morn! rise, holy morn ! 

Draw forth the cheerful day from night ! 

Father ! tonch the east, and light 
The light that shone when Hope was born." 



Dost thou look back on what hath been, 
As some divinely gifted man. 
Whose life in low estate began, 

And on a simple village green? 

Who breaks his birth's invidious bar, 
And grasps the skirts of happy chance, 
And breasts the blows of circumstance, 

And grapples with his evil star ; 

Who makes by force his merit known. 
And lives to clutch the golden keys — 
To mould a mighty state's decrees. 

And shape the whisper of the throne ; 

And moving up from high to higher, 
Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope 
The pillar of a people's hope, 

Tlie centre of a world's desire ; 

Yet feels, as in a pensive dream, 
When all his active powers are stiU, 



FROM 



IN M E M R I A SI ." 



179 



A distant drearness in the liill, 
A secret sweetness in the stream, 

The Ihuit of his narrower fate, 
While yet beside its vocal springs 
lie played at counsellors and kings, 

AVith one that was his earliest mate; 

Who ploughs with pain his native lea, 
And reaps the labor of his hands, 
Or in the furrow musing stands : 

" Does my old friend remember me ? " 



V7iTcn-ELMS, that counterchange the floor 
Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright ; 
And thou, with all thy breadth and height 

Of foliage, towering sycamore ; 

IIow often, hither wandering down. 
My Arthur found your shadows fiur. 
And shook to all the liberal air 

The dust and din and steam of town! 

He brought an eye for all he saw, 
He mixed in all our simple sports ; 
They pleased liim, fresh from brawling 
courts 

And dusky purlieus of the law. 

Oh joy to him, in this retreat, 
Immantlcd in ambrosial dark. 
To drink the cooler air, and mark 

The landscape winking through the heat. 

Oh sound to rout the brood of cares, 
Tlie sweep of scytlic in morning dew, 
Tlie gust that round the garden flew, 

And tumbling half tiie mellowing pears ! 

Oh bliss, when all in circle drawn 
About him, heart and ear were fed. 
To hear him, as he lay and read 

The Tuscan poets on the lawn ; 

Or in the all-golden afternoon 
A guest, or happy sister, sung, 
Or here she brought the harp, and flung 

A ballad to the brightening moon ! 

N'or less it pleased, in livelier moods. 
Beyond the bounding hill to stray, 
And break the livelong summer day 

With banquet in the distant woods; 



Whereat w^e glraiced from theme to <heme, 
Discussed the books to love or hate. 
Or touched the changes of the state, 

Or threaded some Socratic dream. 

But if I praised the busy town. 
He loved to rail against it still. 
For " ground in yonder social mill. 

We rub each other's angles down, 

"And merge," he said, "in form and gloss 
The picturesque of man and man." 
We talked ; the stream beneath us ran, 

The wine-flask lying couched in moss. 

Or cooled within the glooming wave ; 
And last, returning from afar, 
Before the crimson-circled star 

Had fallen into her father's grave, 

And brushing ankle deep in flowers, 
We heard behind the -woodbine veil 
The milk that bubbled in the pail. 

And buzzings of the honeyed hom-s. 



TiiY converse drew us with delight. 
The men of rathe and rip(X* years ; 
The feeble soul, a haunt of fears. 

Forgot his weakness in thy sight. 

On thee the loyal-hearted hung, 
The proud was half disarmed of pride; 
Nor cared the serpent at thy side 

To flicker with his treble tongue. 

The stern were mild when thou wert by ; 
The flippant put himself to school 
And heard thee ; and the brazen fool 

Was softened, and he knew not why ; 

While I, thy dearest sat apart. 
And felt thy triumph was as mine; 
And loved them more, that they were thine, 

The graceful tact, the Christian art ; 

Xot mine the sweetness or the skill. 
But mine the love that will not tire, 
And, born of love, the vague desire 

That spurs an imitative will. 



180 



POEMS OF FRIENDSnir. 



Deap. friend, far off, my lost desire, 
So far, so near, in woe and weal ; 
Oil, loved the most when most I feel 

There is a lower and a higher ; 

Known and unknown, human, divine ! 
Sweet human hand and lips and eye, 
Dear heavenly friend that canst not die, 

Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine ! 

Strange friend, past, present, and to he, 
Loved deeplier, darklier understood ; 
Behold I dream a dream of good. 

And rainde all the world with thee. 



Try voice is on the rolling air ; 

I hear thee where the waters run ; 

Thou standest in the rising sun, 
And in the setting thou art fair. 

What art thou, then? I cannot guess ; 
But though I seem in star and flower 
To feel thee, some diffusive pov/er, 

I do not therefore love thee less : 

My love involves the love hefore ; 

My love is vaster passion noAV ; 

Though mixed with God and nature thou, 
I seem to love thee more and more. 

Far off thou art, but ever nigh ; 
I have thee still, and I rejoice, 
I prosper, circled with thy voice ; 

I shall not lose thee, though I die. 

Alfred Tenntsox. 



THE PASSAGE. 

IMan^y a year is in its grave, 
Since I crossed this restless wave ; 
And the evening, fair as ever. 
Shines on ruin, rock, and river. 

Then in this same boat beside 
Sat two comrades old and tried — 
One with all a father's truth. 
One with all the fire of youth. 

3)ne on earth in silence wrought. 
And his grave in silence sought ; 
But the younger, brighter form 
Passed in battle and ;n storm. 



So, v.'hene'er I turn my eye 

Back upon the days gone by. 

Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me ; 

Friends that closed their course before me. 

But what binds ns, friend to friend. 
But that soul with soul can blend ? 
Soul-lilvC were those hours of yore ; 
Let us walk in soul once more. 

Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee, — 

Take, I give it willingly ; 

For, iavisiblo to thee. 

Spirits twain have crossed with me. 

LuD-n-io Uhland. (German.) 
Anonymous Translation. 



JAFFAR. 

Jaffae, the Barmecide, the good vizier, 
The poor man's hope, the friend without a 

peer, 
Jaffer was dead, slain by a doom unjust ; 
And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust 
Of what the good, and e'en the bad might 

say. 
Ordained that no man living from that day 
Shotdd dare to speak liis name on pain of 

death. 
All Araby and Persia held their breath ; 

All but the brave Mondcer : he, proud to 

show 
How far for love a grateful soul could go. 
And facing death for very scoim and grief 
(For his great heart Avanted a great relief). 
Stood forth in Bagdad daily, in the square 
Where once had stood a happy house, and 

there 
Harangued the tremblers at the scymitar 
On all they owed to the divine Jaftar. 

"Bring me this man," the caliph cried; the 

man 
Was brought, was gazed upon. The mutes 

began 
To bind his arms. "Welcome, brave cords," 

cried he ; 
" From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me ; 
From wants, from shames, from loveless 

household fears ; 



THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 



181 



Made a man's eyes friends with delicious 

tears ; 
Restored me, loved me, put me on a par 
With his great self. IIow can I pay Jaffar? " 

Ilarouu, who felt that on a soul like this 
The mightiest vengeance could but falliimiss, 
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of 

fiite 
Might smile upon another half as great, 
He said, "Let worth grow frenzied if it will; 
The caliph's judgment shall bo master still. 
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem, 
The richest in tha Tartar's diadem, 
And hold the giver as thou deemest fit! " 
"Gifts!" cried the friend; he took, and 

holding it 
High toward the heavens, as tliough to meet 

his star. 
Exclaimed, " This, too, I owe to thee, Jaflfar ! " 

Leigh Hunt. 



TKE FIEE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 

We sat within the farm-house old. 
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, 

jrave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold, 
An easy entrance, night and day. 

ISTot far away vv-e saw the port, — 
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, — 

The liglit-house, — ^the dismantled fort, — 
The wooden houses, quaint and brown. 

We sat and talked until the night. 
Descending, filled the little room ; 

Our faces faded from the sight — 
Our voices only broke the gloom. 

We spake of many a vanished scene. 
Of what we once had thought and said, 

Of what had been, and might have been. 
And who was changed, and who was dead ; 

And all that fills the hearts of friends. 
When first they feel, with secret pain, 

Tlieir lives thenceforth have separate ends, 
And never can be one again ; 



The first slight swerving of the heart, 
That words are powerless to express, 

And leave it still unsaid in part. 
Or say it in too gi'cat excess. 

The very tones in which we spake 
Had something strange, I could but mark ; 

The leaves of memory seemed to make 
A mournful rustling in the dark. 

Oft died the words upon our hps, 

As suddenly, from out the fire 
Built of the wreck of stranded ships, 

The flames would leap and then expire. 

And, as their splendor flashed and failed. 
We thought of wrecks upon tlie main, — 

Of ships dismasted, that were hailed 
And sent no answer back again. 

The windows, rattling in their frames, — 
The ocean, roaring up the beach, — 

The gusty blast, — the bickering flames, — 
All mingled vaguely in our speech ; 

Until they made themselves a part 

Of fancies floating through the brain, — 

The long-lost ventures of the heart, \ 
That sends no answers back again. ' 

Oh flames that globed ! Oh hearts that 
yearned ! 

Tliey were indeed too much akin — 
The di'ift-wood fire without that burned, 

The thoughts that burned and glowed 

within. 

Henry TVADSTvoRTn Loxgfello'W. 



QUA CURSUM YEXTUS. 

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay 
With canvas drooping, side by side, 

Two towers of sail, at dawn of day 
Are scarce, long leagues apart, descried : 

When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, 
And all the darkling hours they plied ; 

Xor dreamt but each the self-same seas 
By each was cleaving, side by side ; 



182 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



E'en so — but why the tale reveal 

Of those whom, year by year unchangetl, 

Brief absence joined anew, to feel, 
Astounded, soul from soul estranged. 

At dead of night their sails were filled. 
And onward each rejoicing steered ; 

Ah, neither blame, for neither willed 
O.' wist what first with dawn appeared. 

To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, 
Brave barks ! In light, in darkness too ! 

Through winds and tides one compass guidcs- 
To that and your own selves be true. 

But O blithe breeze ! and O great seas, 
Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, 

On your wide plain they join again. 
Together lead them home at last. 

One port, mcthought, alike they sought — 
One purpose hold where'er they ftu-e ; 

O bounding breeze, O rushing seas, 
At last, at last, unite them there ! • 

ARXncTR lltTGU Clough. 



OAPE-OOTTAGE AT SUBSET. 

We stood upon the ragged rocks. 
When the long day was nearly done ; 

The waves had ceased their sullen shocks. 
And lapped our feet with murmuring tone, 

And o'er the bay in streaming locks 
Blew the red tresses of the sun. 

Along the West the golden bars 

Still to a deeper glory grew ; 
Above our heads the faint, few stars 

Looked out from the unfathomed blue ; 
And the fair city's clamorous jars 

Seemed melted in that evening hue. 

Oh sunset sky ! Oh purple tide ! 

Oh friends to friends that closer pressed ! 
Those glories have in darkness died, 

And ye have left my longing breast. 
I could not keep you by my side, 

Nor fix that radiance in the West. 

Upon those rocks the waves shall beat 
With the same low and murmuring strain ; 



Across those waves, with glancing feet. 
The sunset rays shall seek the main ; 

But when together shall we meet 
Upon tliat for-otf shore again ? 

W. B. Glazier. 



THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. 

I HAVE had playmates, I have had com- 
panions. 

In my days of childhood, in my joyful school- 
days; 

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have been laughing, I have been carousing. 
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom 

cronies ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I loved a love once, fairest among women ; 
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see 

her; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man ; 
Like an ingrate, I left ray friend abruptly — 
Left him, to muse on the old ftimiliar faces. 

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my 
childhood. 

Earth seemed a desert I was bound to trav- 
erse. 

Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a bro- 
ther. 

Why wen thou not born in my father's 
dwelling ? 

So might wo talk of the old familiar faces — 

IIow some they have died, and some they 
have left me, 

And some are taken from me ; all are de- 
parted. 

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces ! 

CHA.BLE8 Lamb. 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. 



183 



TO- 



Too late I stayed— forgive the crime — 

Uiiheedcd flew tlie hours : 
How noiseless falls the foot of time 

That only treads on flowers! 

And who, with clear account, remarks 

The ehhings of his glass, 
"When all its sands are diamond sparks. 

That dazzle as they pass ? 

Ah ! who to soher measurement 
Time's happy swiftness brings, 

"When birds of paradise have lent 
Tlieir plumage to his wings? 

KOBERT WlLLIAlI SPENCEK. 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. 

[byro:n^ to nis sister.] 

Tiiouori the day of my destiny 's over. 

And the star of my fate hath declined, 
Tliy soft heart refused to discover 

The faults which so many could find ; 
Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted. 

It shrunk not to share it with me, 
And the love which my spirit hatji painted. 

It never hath found but in thee, 

Tlien when nature around me is smiling. 

The last smile which answers to mine, 
I do not believe it beguiling, 

Because it reminds me of thine ; 
As when winds are at war with the ocean. 

As the breasts I believed in with me, 
If their billows excite an emotion, 

It is that they bear me from thee. 

Though the rock of my last hope is shivered, 

And its fragments are sunk in the wave, 
Tliough I feel that my soul is delivered 

To pain — it shall not be its slave. 
There is many a pang to pursue me : 

They may crush, but they shall not con- 
temn — 
They may torture, but shall not subdue me — ■ 

T is of thee that I thinks — not of them. 

Though human, thou didst not deceive me, 
TJjough woman, thou didst not forsake, 



Though loved, thou foi'borest to grieve me, 
Though slandered, thou never couldst shake, 

Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me. 
Though parted, it was not to flj", 

Though watchful, 'twas not to del'ame me, 
Nor mute, that the world might belie. 

Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it, 

For the war of the many with one — 
If my soul was not fitted to prize it, 

'T was folly not sooner to shun ; 
And if dearly that error hath cost me, 

And more than I once could foresee, 
I have found that, whatever it lost me, 

It could not deprive me of thee. 

From the Avreck of the past which hath per- 
ished 

Thus much I at least may recall. 
It hath taught me that w^iat I most cherished 

Deserved to be dearest of all. 
In the desert a fountain is springing. 

In the wild waste there still is a tree. 
And a bird in the solitude singing, 

"Which speaks to my spirit of thee. 

Lord Btkon. 



WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER. 

"We have been friends together. 

In sunshine and in shade ; 
Since first beneath the chestnut-trees 

In infancy we played. 
But coldness dwells within thy heart- 

A cloud is on thy brow ; 
"We have been friends together — 

Shall a light word part ns now? 

"We have been gay together ; 

"We have laughed at little jests ; 
For the fount of hope was gushing, 

"Warm and joyous, in our breasts. 
But laughter now hath fled thy lip, 

And sullen glooms thy^brow ; 
"We have been gay together— 

Shall a light word part us now ? 

"We have been sad together — 
We have wept, with bitter tears, 

O'er the grass-grown graves, where slum- 
bered 
The hopes of early years. 



! 184 rOEMS OF FKIEXDSIIIP. 


The voices -wliicli are silent there 


The same my sire scanned before. 


Would bid thee clear thy hro-\v ; 


The same my grandsire thumbed o'er, 


We have been sad together — 


The same his sire from college bore, 


Oh ! what shall part us now ? 


The well-earned meed 


Caroline Norton. 


Of Oxford's domes : 




Old Homer blind, 
Old Horace, rake Anacreon, by 


° 




Old TuUy, Plautus, Terence lie ; 


GIVE ME THE OLD. 


Mort Arthur's olden minstrelsie. 
Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay I 




And Gervase Mai'kham's venerie — 


! OLD WIXE TO DRIXK, OLD WOOD TO BURN, OLD 


Nor leave beliind 


BOOKS TO HEAD, AND OLD FKIEXDS TO COX- 


The Ilolye Book by Avhich we live and die. 


VERSE WITH. 




1 

I I. 


IV. 


I 

Old wine to drink ! — 


Old friends to talk!— 


Ay, give the slippery juice 


Ay, bring those chosen few. 


That drippeth from the grape thrown loose 


The wise, the courtly, and the true, 


Within the tun ; 


So rarely found ; 


Plucked from beneath the cliff — . 


Him for my Avine, him for my stud. 


Of sunny-sided Teneriffe, 


Him for my easel, distich, bud 


And ripened 'neath the blink 


In mountain Avalk ! 


Of India's sun ! 


Bring Walter good : 


Peat whiskey hot, 


With soulful Fred ; and learned Will, 


Tempered with well-boiled water ! 


And thee, my alter ego^ (dearer still 


These make the long night shorter, — 


For every mood). 


Forgetting not 


PlObert Hinckley Messixgek. 


Good stout old English porter. 


• « 


11. 

Old wood to burn ! — 


SPARKLING AND BRIGHT. 


Ay, bring the hill-side beech 




From where the owlets meet and screech. 


SpAiyvLixa and bright in liquid light, 


And ravens croak ; 


Does the wine our goblets gleam in ; 


The crackling pine, and cedar sweet ; 


With hue as red as the rosy bed 


Bring too a clump of fragrant peat, 


Which a bee would choose to dream in. 


Dug 'neath the fern ; .« 


Then fill to-night, with hearts as light, 


The knotted oak, 


To loves as gap and fleeting 


A faggot too, pcrhap, 


As bubbles that sioim on the bealccr's brim, 


Whose bright flame, dancing, winking. 


And brealc on the lij^s while meeting. 


Shall light us at our drinking ; 




While the oozing sap 
Shall make sweel music to our thinking. 


Oh ! if Mirth might arrest the flight 
Of Time through Life's dominions, 




We here a while would now beguile 


III. 


The graybeard of his pinions. 


Old books to read ! — 


To drinh to-niaht, with hearts as light, 
To lores as gay and fleeting 


Ay, bring those nodes of wit. 


The brazen-clasped, the velluna writ, 


As bubbles that swim on tlie bealer's brim 


Time honored tomes ! 


And brealc on the lips while meeting. 



ii 



o X ^- n^ I A L SONGS, 



:;n 



But since Delight caift teuii)t tlic wiglit, 
N^or fond Regret delay Iiim, 
Nor Love himself can hold the elf, 
Nor sober Friendship stay him, 

We^ll drinlc to-night, icitli hearts as light, 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As hithhles that swim on the leal^erh Irim 
And hreah on the lijis ichile meeting. 

Charles Fenno Hoffman. 



WREATHE THE BOWL. 

WuEATHE the bowl 
With flowers of sonl, 

The brightest wit can find us ; 
We'll take a flight 
Towards heav'n to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us! 
Sliould Love amid 
The wreaths he hid 

Tliat Joy, the enchanter, brings us, 
No danger fear 
While wine is near — ■ 

WeJJl drown him if he stings us. 
Then wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul, 

The brightest M'it can find us ; 
We'll take a flight 
Towards heav'n to-night. 

And leave dull earth behind us ! 

'Twas nectar fed 

Of old, 'tis said, 
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos ; 

And man may brew 

His nectar too ; 
The rich receipt's as follows — 

Take wine like this ; 

Let looks of bliss 
Around it well be blended; 

Then bring wit's beam 

To -warm the stream, 
And there's your nectar, splendid! 

?o wreathe the bowl 

With flowers of soul, 
The brightest wit can find us; 

We'll takeafli^it 

Towards heav'n to-night, 
And loave dull cartli behind us! 
28 



Say, why did time 

His glass sublime 
Fill up with sands unsightly, 

When wine he knew 

Runs brisker through, 
And sparkles far more brightly ? 

Oh, lend it us. 

And, smiling thus, 
The glass in two we 'd sever, 

Make pleasure glide 

In double tide. 
And fill both ends for ever ! 

Then wreathe the bowl 

With flowers of soul. 
The brightest wit can And us; 

We'll take a flight 

Towards heav'n to-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us ! 

Thomas Mcokb. 



CHAMPAGNE ROSE. 

Lily on liquid roses floating— 

So floats ^on foam o'er pink champagne- 
Fain would I join such pleasant bqating. 

And prove that ruby main. 
And float away on wine ! 

Those seas are dangerous, graybeards swear- 
Whose sea-beach is the goblet's brim ; 

And true it is they drown old care — 
But what care we for him. 
So we but float on wine ! 

And true it is they cross in pain, 
Who sober cross the Stygian ferry ; 

But only make our Styx champagne. 
And we shall cross right merr3'. 
Floating away in wine ! 

Old Charon's self shall make him mellow. 
Then gayly row his boat from shore ; 

While we, and every jovial fellow. 
Hear, unconcerned, the oar, 
That dips itself in wine ! 

• John Kenton 



ISC. POEMS OF F 


Ill E N D S III P . 




Fill the bumper fair ! 


FILL THE lUIMPER FAIE. 


Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 


Fill the humper fair ! 
Every drop we sprinkle 


Smooths away a wrinkle. 

Thomas Mooke. 


Cer the brow of care 


^ 


Smooths away a wrinkle. 




"Wit's electric llanie 

Ne'er so swiftly passes 
x\s when through the frame 


AND DOTII NOT A MEETING LIKE 
THIS. 


It slujots from brimming glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair ! 


And doth not a meeting like tliis make 
amends 


Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of care 


For all the long years I've been wand'ring 
away— 


Smooths away a wrinkle. 


To see thus around me my youth's early 




friends. 


Sages can, they say, 

Grasp the lightning's pinions, 
And bring down its ray 

From the starred dominions: — 
So we, sages, sit, 


As smiling and kind as in that happy day ? 
Though haply o'er some of your brows, as 

o'er mine, 
The snow-fidl of Time may be stealing — what 

then? 


And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, 
From the heaven of wit 

Draw down all its lightning. 


Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, 
We '11 Avear the gay tinge of Youth's roses 
again. 


Wouldst thou know what first 


What softened remembrances come o'er the 


Made our souls inherit 


heart. 


This ennobling thirst 


In gazing on those we've been lost to so long! 


For wine's celestial spirit? 


The sorrows, the joys, of which once they 


It chanced upon that day, 


were part. 


"\Y hen, as bards inform us, 


Still round them, like visions of yesterday, 


Prometheus stole away 


throng ; 


The living fires that warm us : 


As letters some hand hath invisibly traced. 




When held to the flame will steal out on the 


The careless Youth, when up 


sight. 


To Glory's fount aspiring. 


So many a feeling, that long seemed eftaced, 


Took nor urn nor cup 


The warmth of a moment like this brings to 


To hide the pilfered fire in. — 


light. 


But oh his joy, when, round 
The halls of heaven spying 

Among the stars, he found 
A bowl of Bacchus lying ! 


And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide. 
To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, 
Though oft we may see, looking down on tlie 
tide, 


Some drops were in that bowl, 


The wreck of full many a hope shining 


Eemains of last night's pleasure. 


through ; 


With which the sparks of soul 


Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers 


I»Iixed their burning treasure. 


That once made a garden of all the gay shore, 


Hence the goblet's shower 


Deceived for a moment, we'll think them 


Ilath such spells to win us; 


still ours. 


Hence its mighty power 


And breathe the fresh air of Life's morning 


O'er that flame within us. 


once more. 



UOXVIYIAL SONGS, 



18'' 



So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most. 
Is all we can have of the few we lioid dear; 
And oft even joy is unheeded and hjst 
For want of some lieart that could echo it, 

near. 
Ah, well may we hope, when this short life 

is gone, 
To meet in some world of more permanent 

hliss; 
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning 

on, 
Ts all we iiijoy of each other in tliis. 

But, come, the more rare such delights to the 

heart, 
The more we sliould welcome, and bless them 

the more ; 
They're ours, when we meet — they are lost 

when we part — 
Liko birds that bring Summer, and fly when 

't is o'er. 
'I'luis circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we 

drink, 
I.et Sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, 

through pain, 

riiat, fast as a feeling but touches one link. 

Her magic shall send it direct through the 

chain. 

Thomas Moork 



HOW STANDS THE GLASS AROUND? 

llow stands the glass around? 
I'ur shame! ye take no care, my boys ; 

IIow stands the glass around ? 

Let mirth and wine abound. 

Tiie trumpets sound ; 
The colors they are flying, boys. 

To fight, kill, or wound, 

May we still be found 
Content with our hard fare, my boys. 

On the cold ground. 

"Why, soldiers, why 
Should we be melancholy, boys? 
"Why, soldiers, Avhy, 
"Whose business 'tis to die? 
AVhat, sighing? fie! 



Don't fear, drink on, be jolly, boys! 

'Tis he, you, or I! 

Cold, hot, wet or dry, 
We're always bound to follow, boys, 

And scorn to fly. 

'T is but in vain — 
I mean not to upbraid you, boys — 

'Tis but in vain 

For soldiers to complain : 

Should next campaign 
Send us to Ilim who made us, boys, 

"We 're free from pain ! 

But if we remain, 
A bottle and a kind landlady 

Cure all again. 

A NONTMOUS. 



COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. 

Come, send round the wine, anJ leave points 

of belief 
To simpleton sages and reasoning fools ; 
This moment 's a flower too fair and brief 
To be withered and stained by the dust of the 

schools. 
Your glass may be purple, and mine may be 

blue. 
But while they arc filled from the same bright 

bowl. 
The fool who would quarrel for difference of 

hue 
Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the 

soul. 

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by 

my side. 
In the cause of mankind, if our creeds may 

agree ? 
Shall I give up the friend I have valued and 

tried. 
If he kneel not before the same altar with me ? 
From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly 
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox 

kiss? 
No! perish the hearts and the laws that try 
Truth, valor, or love, by a standard like this! 

Thomas Mooke. 



188 



rOEMS OF FRIENDSIIIl'. 



FRIEND OF MY SOUL. 

Feiexd of my soul ! tins goblet sip — 

'T v.'ill chase the pensive tear ; 
'T is not so sweet as woman's lip, 

But, oh! 't is more sincere. 
Like her dehisive beam, 

'T will steal away the mind, 
But unlike affection's dream, 

It leaves no sting behind. 

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade- 

These flowers were culled at noon ; 
Like woman's love the rose will lade, 

But ah ! not half so soon : 
For though the flower's decayed, 

Its fragrance is not o'er ; 
13ut once when love's betrayed. 

The heart can bloom no more. 

Thomas Mooel-. 



TO THOMAS MOORE. 

My boat is on the shore, 

And my bark is on the sea ; 
But, before I go, Tom Moore, 

Here 's a double health to thee ! 

Here 's a sigh for those that love me. 
And a smile for those who hate; 

And, whatever sky 's above me, 
Here 's a heart for every fate. 

Though the ocean roar around me, 
Yet it still shall bear me on ; 

Though a desert should surround me, 
It hath springs that may be won. 

Were 't the last drop in the Avell, 

As I gasped upon the brink, 
Ere my fainting spirit fell 

'T is to thee that I would drink. 

Witli tliat water, as tliis wine, 

The libation I would pour 
Should be — Peace with thine and mine. 

And a health to thee, Tom Moore ! 

LoKD Byeon. 



FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOD 
WELCOME THE HOUR. 

Farewell ! but whenever yon welcome the 

hour 
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your 

bower. 
Then think of the friend who once welcomed 

it too, 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with 

you. 
His griefs may return — not a hope may remain 
Of the few that have brightened his pathway 

of pain — 
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that 

threw 
Its enchantment around him while liugerinfj; 

with you ! 

And still on that evening, when pleasure 

fdls up 
To the highest top-sparkle each heart and 

each cup. 
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, 
My soul, happy friends! shall be with you 

that night — 
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and 

your wiles. 
And return to me beaming all o'er with your 

smiles ; 
Too blest if it tells me that, mid the gay 

cheer, 
Some kind voice had murmured, " I wish he 

Avere here ! " 

Let Fate do her worst, thei-e are relics of joy, 
Bright dreams of the ]3ast, which she cannot 

destroy ! 
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and 

care. 
And bring back the features that joy used to 

Avear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories 

filled! 
Like the vase in which roses have once been 

distilled ; 
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you 

will. 

But the scent of the roses Avill hang round it 

stilL 

Thomas Moore. 



THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 



ISS 



THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 

A sti:eet there is in Paris famous, 

For Avliicli no rhyme our language yields, 
Hue ISTenve des petits Champs its name is — 

The jSTew Street of the Little Fields ; 
And there 's an inn, not rich and splendid, 

But still in comfortable case — 
TIic which in youth I oft attended. 

To eat a howl of Bonillahaisse. 

This Bonillahaisse a noble dish is— 

A sort of soup, or broth, or brew, 
Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes. 

That Greenwich never could outdo; 
Green herbs, red peppers, muscles, saffern. 

Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace : 
All these you eat at Terre's tavern, 

In that one dish of Bo.uillabaisse. 

Indeed, a rich and savory stew 't is ; 

And true philosophers, methinks, 
"Who love all sorts of natural beauties, 

Sliould love good victuals and good drinks. 
And Cordelier or Benedictine 

Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace, 
[ior find a fast-day too afflicting, 

"Which served him up a Bouillabaisse. 

1 wonder if the house still there is? 

Yes, here the lamp is as before ; 
Tiie smiling, red-cheeked ecaillere is 

Still opening oysters at the door. 
Is Terre still alive and able ? 

I recollect his droll grimace ; 
lie 'd come and smile before your table. 

And hoped you liked your Bouillabaisse. 

AVe enter ; nothing 's changed or older. 

"How's Monsieur Terre, waiter, pray?" 
The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulder ; — 

"Monsieur is dead this many a day." 
" It is the lot of saint and sinner. 

So honest Terre 's run his race I " 
'■ What will Monsieur require for dinner?" 

"Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse?" 

"Oil, oui, Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer; 

" Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il I " 
"Tell me a good one." "That? can, sir; 

The Chambertin with vellow seal." 



" So Terre's gone," I say, and sink in 
My old accustomed corner-place ; 

"He 's done with feasting and with drinking, 
'\Vith Burgundy and Bouillabaisse." 

My old accustomed corner here is — 

The table still is in the nook ; 
Ah ! vanished many a busy year is, 

This well-known chair since last I took, 
"When first I saw ye, Cari luoffJii, 

I 'd scarce a beard upon my face, 
And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, 

I sit and wait fur Bouillabaisse. 

"Where are you, old companions trusty 

Of early days, here met to dine ? 
Come, waiter ! quick, a flagon crusty — 

I'll pledge them in the good old wine. 
The kind old voices and old faces 

My memory can quick retrace ; 
Around the board they take their places, 

And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. 

There 's Jack has made a vrondrous marriage ; 

There 's laughing Tom is laughing yet ; 
There 's brave Augustus drives his carriage ; 

There 's poor old Fred in the Gazette ; 
On James's head the grass is growing : 

Good Lord ! the w'orld has wagged apace 
Since here we set the Claret flowing. 

And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse. 

Ah me ! how quick the days are flitting ! 

I mind me of a time that 's gone, 
When here I 'd sit, as now I 'm sitting, 

In this same place — but not alone 
A fair young form was nestled near me, 

A dear, dear face looked fondly up. 
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me. 

— Tliere 's no one now to share my cup. 

+ :!-. * ^: 

I drink it as the Fates ordain it. 

Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes; 
Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it 

In memory of dear old times. 
"Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is ; 

And sit you down and say your grace 
"With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is. 

— Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse ! 
"William Makepeace Thackekay. 



190 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



OH FILL THE WINE-CUP HIGH! 

On fill the wine-cup high ! 

The sparkling liquor pour ; 
For we will care and grief defy, 

They ne'er shall plague us more. 
And ere the snowy foam 

From off the wine departs, 
The precious draught shall find a home, 

A dwelling in our hearts. 

Though bright may be the beams 

That woman's eyes display : 
They are not like the ruby gleams 

That in our goblets play. 
For tliough surpassing bright 

Their brilliancy may be. 
Age dims the lustre of their light 

But adds more worth to thee. 

Give me another draught. 

The sparkling, and the strong ; 
He who would learn the poet craft — 

He who would shine in song — 
Should pledge the flowing bowl 

With warm and generous wine ; 
'Twas wine that warmed Anacreon's soul. 

And made his songs divine. 

And e'en in tragedy, 

Who lives that never knew 
The honey of the Attic Bee 

Was gathered from thy dew ? 
He of the tragic muse, 

Whose praises bards rehearse; 
What power but thine could e'er diffuse 

Such sweetness o'er his verse? 

Oh would that I could raise 

The magic of that tongue ; 
The spirit of those deathless lays. 

The Swan of Teios sung! 
Each song the bard has given 

Its beauty and its worth. 
Sounds sweet as if a voice from heaven 

Was echoed upon the earth. 

How mighty — how divine. 

Thy spirit seemeth when 
The rich draught of the purple vine 

Dwelt in these sodlike men. 



It made each glowing page. 

Its eloquence, and truth. 
In the glory of then- golden age, 

Outshine the fire of vouth. 

Joy to the lone heart — -joy 

To the desolate — oppressed ; 
For wine can every grief destroy 

That gathers in the breast. 
The sorrows and the care, 

That in our hearts abide, 
'T will chase them from their dwellings 
there, 

To drown them in its tide. 

And now the heart grows warm 

With feelings undefined. 
Throwing their deep diffusive charm 

O'er all the realms of mind. 
The loveliness of truth 

Flings out its brightest rays. 
Clothed in the t«ongs of early youth. 

Or joys of other days. 

We think of her, the young, 

The beautiful, the bright. 
We hear the music of her tongue, 

Breathing its deep delight. 
We see again each glance, 

Each bright and dazzling beam. 
We feel our throbbing hearts still dance, 

We live but in a dream. 

From darkness, and from woe, 

A power like lightning darts; 
A glory cometh down to throw 

Its shadows o'er our hearts ; 
And dimmed by foiling tears, 

A spirit seems to rise, 
That shows the friend of other years 

Is mirrored in our eyes. 

But sorrow, grief, and care. 

Had dimmed his setting star; 
And we think with tears of those that 
Ave re, 

To smile on those tliat are. 
Yet tliough the grassy mound 

Sits lightly on his head. 
We'll pledge, in solemn silence round, 

The memory of the dead ! 



SAINT PERAY. 



191 



TLe sparkling juice now pour, 

"With fond and liberal Land ; 
Oh raise the laughing riui once more, 

Here 's to our Fatherland ! 
Up, every soul that hears, 

Hurrah! ■with three times three; 
And shout aloud, with deafening cheers. 

The "Island of the Free!" 

Then fill the wine-cup high. 

The sparkling liquor pour ; 
For we will care and grief defy. 

They ne'er shall plague us more. 
And ere the snowy foam 

From off the wine departs. 
The precious draught shall find a home — 

A dwelling in our hearts. 

Robert Folkestone Williams. 



SAINT PERAY. 

ADDRESSED TO U. T. P. 

Whex to any saint I pray. 
It siiall be to Saint Peray. 
He alone, of all the brood, 
Ever did me any good : 
Many I have tried that are 
Humbugs in the calendar. 

On the Atlantic, foint and sick. 
Once I ])rayed Saint Dominick : 
He was holy, sure, and wise ; — 
Was't not he that did devise 
Auto da Fes and rosaries ? — 
But for one in my condition 
This good saint was no physician. 

Next, in pleasant Normandie, 
I made a prayer to Saint Denis, 
In the great cathedral, where 

All the ancient kings repose ; 
But, how I was swindled there 

At the " Golden Fleece,"— he knows ! 

In my wanderings, vague and various, 
Reaciiing Naples — as J lay 
"Watching Vesuvius from the bay, 

I besought Saint Januarius; 



But I was a fool to try him ; 
Naught I said could liquefy him ; 
And I swear he did me wrong. 
Keeping me shut up so long 
In that pest-house, with obscene 
Jews and Greeks and things unclean - 
What need had I of quarantine ? 

In Sicily at least a score — 
In Spain about as many more — 
And in Rome almost as many. 
As the loves of Don Giovanni, 
Did I pray to — sans reply ; 
Devil take the tribe ! — said I. 

Worn with travel, tired and lame, 
To Assisi's walls I came ; 
Sad and full of homesick fancies, 
I addressed me to Saint Francis : 
But the beggar never did 
Any thing as he was bid, 
Never gave me aught — but fleas- 
Plenty had I at Assise. 

But in Provence, near Vaucluse, 

Hard by the Rhone, I found a Sai:;i 
Gifted with a wondrous juice, 

Potent for the worst complaint. 
'T was at Avignon that first — 
In the witching time of thirst — 
To my brain the knowledge came 
Of this blessed Catholic's name ; 
Forty miles of dust that day 
Made me welcome Saint Peray. 

Though till then I had not heard 
Aught about him, ere a third 
Of a litre passed my lips. 
All saints else were in eclipse. 
For his gentle spirit glided 

With such magic into mine. 
That methought such bliss as I did 

Poet never drew from wine. 

Rest he gave me, and refection — 

Chastened hopes, calm retrospection - 

Softened images of sorrow. 

Bright forebodings for the morrow — 

Charity for what is past — 

Faith in something good at last. 

Now, why should any almanack 
The name of this good creature lack? 



192 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



Or wherefore sliould the breviary 
Omit a saint so sage and merry ? 
The Pope himself should grant a day 
Especially to Saint Peray. 
But, since no day hath been appointed, 
On purpose, by the Lord's anointed, 
Let us not wait — we 'II do him right ; 
Send round your bottles, Hal — and set 
your night. 

Thomas AVilliam Parsons. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 



Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 

And days o' lang syne ? 
For auld lang syne, ray dear. 

For auld lang syne, 
We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne ! 



We tv^a hae run about the braes. 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we've wandered mony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 



We twa hae paidl't i' the burn 
Frae raornin' sun till dine ; 

But seas between us braid hae roared 
Sin auld lang syne. 



And here's a hand, my trusty fiere. 

And gle 's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught 

For auld lang syne ! 



And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp, 

And surely I '11 be mine ; 
And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne. 
We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne ! 

■Robert Burms. 



NIGHT AT SEA. 

The lovely purple of the noon's bestowing 
Has vanished from the waters, where it 
flung 
A royal color, such as gems are throwing 

Tyrian or regal garniture among. 
'T is night, and overhead the sky is gleaming. 
Through the slight vapor trembles each dim 
star ; 
I turn away — my heart is sadly di-eaming 
Of scenes they do not light, of scenes afar. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, as I think of you? 

By eacli dark wave around the vessel sweep- 
ing, 
Farther am I from old dear friends re- 
moved ; 
Till the lone vigil that I now am keeping, 
I did not know how mucli you were be- 
loved. 
How many acts of kindness little heeded, 
Kind looks, kind words, rise half reproach- 
ful now ! 
Hurried and anxious, my vexed life has 
speeded. 
And memory wears a soft accusing brow. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, as I think of you? 

The very stars are strangers, as I catch them 
Athwart the shadowy sails that swell 
above ; 
I cannot hope that other eyes will watch them 

At the same moment with a mutual love. 
They shine not there, as here they now are 
shining ; 
The very hours are changed. — Ah, do ye 
sleep ? 
O'er each home pillow midnight is declining — 
May some kind dream at least my image 
keep! 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, as I think of you ? 

Yesterday has a charm, To-day could never 
Fling o'er the mind, which knows not till 
it parts 



ICI G II T AT SEA. 



19a 



How it turns back witli tendcrest endeavor 
To fix tlie past Avithin the heart of hearts. 
Absence is full of memory ; it teaches 
The value of all old familiar things ; 
The stvengthener of affection, wliile it 
reaches 
O'er the dark parting, "with an angel's 
wings. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do yon think of me, as I think of you ? 

The world, with one vast element omitted — 

Man's ovt'n especial element, the earth ; 
Yet, o'er the waters is his rule transmitted 
By that great knowledge whence has power 
' its birth. 
How oft on some strange loveliness while 
gazing 
Have I wished for you — beantiful as new, 
The purple waves like some wild army rais- 
ing 
Their snowy banners as the ship cuts 
through. 
Mj friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, as I think of you ! 

Bearing upon its wings the hues of morn- 
Up springs the flying fish like life's false 

.ioy, 

Which of the sunshine asks that frail adorn- 
ing 
TThose very light is fated to destroy. 
Ah, so doth genius on its rainbow pinion 
Spring from the depths of an unkindly 
world ; 
So spring sweet fancies from the heart's 
dominion — 
Too soon in death the scorched-np wing is 
furled. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Whate'er I see is linked with thoughts 
of you. 

No life is in the air, but in the waters 

Are creatures, huge, and terrible, and 
strong ; 
The sword-fish and the shai'k pursue their 
slaughters, 
"War universal reigns these depths along. 
29 



Like some ncAV island on the ocean spring- 
ing, 
Floats on the surface some gigantic whale, 
From its vast head a silver fountain flinging. 
Bright as the fountain in a fairy tale. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

I read such fiiiry legends wliile with 
you. 

Light is amid the gloomy canvas spreading, 

The moon is whitening the dusky sails. 
From the thick bank of clouds she masters, 
shedding 
The softest influence that o'er night pre- 
vails. 
Pale is she like a young queen pale with 
splendor. 
Daunted with passionate thoughts too fond 
too deep ; 
The very glory that she wears is tender. 
The eyes that watch her beauty fain would 
weep. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, as I think of you ? 



Sunshine is ever cheerful, when the morning 
Wakens the world with cloud-dispelling 
eyes; 
The spirits mount to glad endeavor, scorning 

What toil upon a path so sunny lies. 
Sunshine and hope are comrades, and their 
weather 
Calls into life an energy like Spring's; 
But memory and moonlight go together, 
Keflected in the light that either brings. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, then ? I think 
of you. 



The busy deck is hushed, no sounds are wak- 
ing 
But the watch pacing silently and slow ; 
The waves against the sides incessant break- 
ing, 
And rope and canvas swaying to and fro. 
The topmast sail, it seems like some dim pin- 
nacle 
Cresting a shadowy tower amid the air ;. 



194 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



While red and fitful gleams come from the 
binnacle. 
The only light on hoard to guide us— 
where ? 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Far from my native land, and far from 
you. 

On one side of the ship, the moonbeam's 
shimmer 
In luminous vibrations sweeps the sea, 
But where the shadow falls, a strange, pale 
glimmer 
Seems, glow-worm like, amid the waves 
to be. 
All that the spirit thinks of thought and feel- 

Takes visionary hues from such an hour ; 
But while some phantasy is o'er me stealmg, 
I start — remembrance has a keener power : 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

From the fair dream I start to think 
of you. 

A dusk line in the moonlight — I discover 

What all day long vainly I sought to catch ; 
Or is it but the varying clouds that hover 
Thick in the air, to mock the eyes that 
Avatch ? 
N"o; well the sailor knows each speck, ap- 
pearing, 
Upon the tossing waves, the far-off strand ; 
# To that dark line our eager ship is steering. 
Her voyage done — to-morrow we shall 

land, 

L-ETiTiA Elizabeth Landou. 



THE JODRXEY Oi^WAEDS. 

As slow our ship her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving. 
Her trcmbhng pennant still looked back 

To that dear isle 't was leaving. 
So loth we part from all wo love, 

From all the links that bind us ; 
So turn our hearts, as on we rove, 

To those we 've left behind us ! 



When, round the bowl, of vanished years 

We talk with joyous seeming — 
With smiles that might as well be tears, 

So faint, so sad their beaming ; 
While memory brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us, 
Oh sweet 's the cup that circles then 

To those we 've left behind us ! 

And when, in other climes, we meet 

Some isle or vale enchanting. 
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, 

And naught but love is wanting ; 
We think how great had been om- bliss 

If Heaven had but assigned us 
To live and die in scenes like this, 

With some we 've left behind us ! 

As travellers oft look back at eve 

When eastward darkly going. 
To gaze upon that light they leave 

Still faint behind them glowing, — 
So, when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath near consigned us, 
We turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that 's left behind us. 

Thomas Moobe. 



THE MAHOGANY TPvEE. 

CnEisTJiAS is here ; 
Winds whistle shrill, 
Icy and chill, 
Little care we ; 
Little we fear 
Weather without, 
Sheltered about 
The Mahogany Tree. 

Once on the boughs 
Birds of rare plume 
Sang, in its bloom ; 
Night birds are we; 
Here we carouse. 
Singing, like them, 
Perched round the stem 
Of the jolly old tree. 

Here let us sport. 
Boys, as we sit — 
Laughter and wit 
Flashing so free. 



CERISTMAS, 



19J 



L 



Life is but short — 
Wlien we arc gone, 
Let them sing on, 
Ivound the old tree. 

Evenings we knew, 
Happy as tljis; 
Faces we miss, 
Pleasant to see. 
Kind hearts and true, 
Gentle and just, 
Peace to your dust ! 
We sing round the tree. 

Care, like a dun, 
Lurks at the gate : 
Let the dog wait ; 
Happy we '11 be ! 
Drink, every one ; 
Pile up the coals ; 
Fill the red bowls, 
Round the old tree ! 

Drain we the cup. — 
Friend, art afraid ? 
Spirits are laid 
In the Eed Sea. 
ifantle it up ; 
Empty it yet ; 
Let us forget, 
Round the old tree ! 

Sorrows begone ! 
Life and its ills. 
Duns and their bills, 
Bid we to flee. 
Come with the dawn. 
Blue-devil sprite ; 
Leave us to-night. 
Round the old tree ! 

William Makepeace Thackeray. 



CHRISTMAS. 

oo now is come our joyful'st feast ; 

Let every man be jolly; 
Each room with ivy leaves is drest. 

And every post with holly. 
Though some churls at our mu-th repine, 
Round your foreheads garlands twine, 



Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, 
And let us all be merry. 

Now all our neighbors' chimneys smoke, 
And Christmas blocks are burning; 

Their ovens they with baked meat choke, 
And all their spits are turning. 

Without the door let sorrow lie ; 

And if for cold it hap to die, 

We '11 bury 't in a Christmas pie, 
And evermore be merry. 

Now every lad is wond'rous trim, 

And no man minds his labor ; 
Our lasses have provided them 

A bagpipe and a tabor ; 
Young men and maids, and girls and boys. 
Give life to one another's joys ; 
And you anon shall by their noise 

Perceive that they are merry. 

Rank misers now do sparing shun — 

Their hall of music soundeth ; 
And dogs thence with whole shoulders run, 

So all things there aboundeth. 
The country folks themselves advance. 
With crowdy-muttons out of France ; 
And Jack shall pipe, and Gill shall dance, 

And all the town be merry. 

Ned Squash has fetched his bands from pawn, 

And all his best apparel ; 
Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn 

With dropping of the barrel. 
And those that hardly all the year 
Had bread to eat, or rags to wear, 
Will have both clothes and dainty fare. 

And all the day be merry. 

Now poor men to the justices 
With capons make their errants ; 

And if they hap to fail of these. 

They plague them with their warrants : 

But now they feed them with good cheer, 

And what they want they take in beer ; 

For Christmas comes but once a yeai'. 
And then they shall be merry. 

Good farmers in the country nurse 
The poor, that else were undone ; 

Some landlords spend their money worse, 
On lust and pride at London. 



196 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



There tlie roysters they do pLiy, 
Drab and dice then- lands away, 
Which may be onrs another day, 
And therefore let 's be merrj'. 

Tlie client now his suit forbears; 

The prisoner's heart is eased ; 
The debtor drinks away his cares, 

And for the time is pleased. 
Tliough others' purses be more fat, ♦ 
Why should we pine or grieve at that ? 
llang sorrow ! Care will kill a cat — 

And therefore let's be merry. 

Ilark ! now the wags abroad do call 

Each other forth to rambling; 
Anon you'll see them in the hall, 

For nuts and apples scrambling. 
Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound! 
Anon they'll think the house goes round, 
For they the cellar's depth have found, 

And there they will be merry. 

The wenches with their wassail bowls 

About the streets are singing ; 
The boys are come to catch the owls 

The wild mare in is bringing. 
Our kitchen boy hath broke his box ; 
And to the dealing of the ox 
Our honest neighbors come by flocks, 

And here they y^ IH be merry. 

Xow kings and queens poor sheepcotes have. 

And mate with everybody ; 
Tlie honest now may play the knave. 

And wise men play the noddy. 
Some youths will now a mumming go. 
Some others play at Kowland-bo, 
And twenty other game boys mo. 

Because they will be merry 



Then wherefore, in these merry days, 

Should we, I pray, be duller ? 
Fo, let ns sing some roundelays. 

To make our mirth the fuller ; 
And, while we thus inspired sing, 
Let all the streets with echoes ring ; 
"Woods and hills, and every thing. 

Bear witness we are merry ! 

Geokoe Wither. 



WHAT MIGHT BE DONE. 

What might be done if men were wise — 
What glorious deeds, my suffering brother 
Would they unite 
In love and right, 
And cease their scorn of one another ? 

Oppression's heart miglit be imbued 
With kindling drops of lovingrkindness ; 

And knowledge pour. 

From shore to shore. 
Light on the eyes of mental blindness. 

All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs. 
All vice and crime, might die together ; 

And wine and corn. 

To each man born. 
Be free as warmth in summer weather. 

The meanest wretch that ever trod, 
The deei>est sunk in guilt and sorrow, 
Might stand erect 
In self-respect, 
And share the teeming world to-morrow. 

What might be done ? This might be done. 
And more than this, ray suffering brother- 
More than the tongue 
E'er said or sung. 
If men were wise and loved each other. 
Charles Mackat. 



PART IV. 
POEMS OF LOVE 



Love ? I will tell thee what it is to love ! 

It is to build with human thoughts a shrine, 

Where Hope sits brooding like a beauteous dove ; 

Where Time seems young, and Life a thing divine. 

All tastes, all pleasures, all desires combine 

To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss. 

Above, the stars in cloudless beauty shine ; 

Around, the streams their flowery margins kiss ; 

And if there 's heaven on earth, that heaven is surely this. 

Yes, this is Love, the steadfast and the true, 

The immortal glory which hath never set ; 

The best, the brightest boon the heart e'er kuew : 

Of all life's sweets the very sweetest yet ! 

! who but can recall the eve they met 

To breathe, in some green walk, their first young vow ? 

While summer flowers with moonlight dews were wet, 

And winds sighed soft around the mountain's brow, 

And all was rapture then which is but memory now ! 

Charles Swaut, 



i 






POEMS OF LOVE. 



sm CAULmE. 



THE riEST PART. 



In Ireland, ferr over the sea, 
There dwelleth a bonnye kinge ; 

And with him a yong and comlye knighte. 
Men call him Sjr Cauline. 

Tlie kinge had a ladye to his danghtei-. 
In lashyon she hath no peere; 

And princely wightes that ladye wooed 
To be theyr wedded fere, 

Syr Cauline loveth her best of all, 

But nothing durst he saye, 
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, 

But deerlye he lovde this may. 

Till on a daye it so beffell 

Great dill to him was dight ; 
The mayden's love removde his mind, 

To care-bed went the knighte. 

One while he spred his amies him fro, 
One while he spred them nye : 

"And aye! but I winne that ladye's love, 
For dole now I mun dye." 

And whan our parish -masse was done, 
Our kinge was bowne to dyne: 

lie sayes, " Where is Syr Cauline, 
That is wont to serve the wyne ? " 

Tlien aunswcrde him a courteous knighte, 
And fast his handes gan wringe : 

" Syr Cauline is sicke, and like to dye, 
Without a good leechinge." 



"Fetche me downe my daughter doere, 

She is a leeche fullo fine ; 
Goe take him doughe and the baken bread, 
And serve him with the wyne soe red : 

Lothe I were him to tine." 

Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes, 

Her maydens followyng nye : 
" Oh well," she saytl), " how doth my lord ?" 

" Oh sicke, thou fayr ladye." 

"Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame; 

Never lye soe cowardlee ; 
For it is told in my father's halle 

You dye for love of mee." 

"Fayre ladye, it is for your love 

That all this dill I drye : 
For if you wold comfort me with a kisse, 
Then Avere I brought from bale to blisse. 

No lenger wold I lye." 

"Syr knighte, my father is a kinge, 

I am his onlye heire ; 
Alas! and well you knowe, syr knighte, 

I never can be youre fere." 

" O ladye, thou art a kinge's daughter. 

And I am not thy peere ; 
But let me doe some deedes of amies. 

To be your bacheleere." 

" Some deedes of amies if thou wilt doe, 

My bacheleere to bee 
(But ever and aye my heart wold rue, 

Giffharm should happe to thee,) 



I 



200 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



" Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne, 

Upon the 'mores brodinge ; 
iVnd dare yo, syr knighte, wake there all 
nighte, 

Untill the fayre uiorninge ? 

''For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of 
mighte, 

"Will examine you heforne ; 
And never man bare life awaye, 

But he did him scath and scorne. 

I "That knighte he is a foul paynim, 
And large of limb and bone ; 
And but if heaven may be thy spoedc, 
Thy life it is but gone." 

"Nowe on the Eldridge hilles He walke, 

For thy sake, fair ladie ; 
And lie either bring you a ready token, 

Or He never more you see." 

Tlje lady is gone to her own chaumbere. 

Her maydens following bright ; 
Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone, 
And to the Eldridge hills is gone, 

For to wake there all night. 

Unto midnight, that the moone did rise. 

He walked up and downe ; 
Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe 

Over the bents soe browne ; 
Quoth hee, "If cryance come till my heart, 

I am farre from any good towne." 

And soone he spyde on the mores so broad 

A furyous wight and fell ; 
A ladye bright his brydle led, 

Clad in a fayre kyrtell : 

And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline, 

" man, I rede thee flye. 
For but if cryance come till thy heart, 

I weene but thou mun dye." 

He sayth, " No cryance comes till my heart, 

Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee ; 
For, cause thou minged not Christ before, 

The less me dreadeth thee." 



The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his steed ; 

Syr Cauline bold abode : 
Then either shooke his trustye speare, 
And the timber these two children bare 

Soe soone in sunder slode. 

Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes, 

And layden on full faste. 
Till helrae and hawberke, mail and sheelde. 

They all were well-nighe brast. 

The Eldridge knight was mickle of might. 
And stifle in stower did staude; • 

But Syr Cauline with an aukeward stroke 
He smote off his right-hand ; 

That soone he, Avith paine, and lacke of blond, 
Fell downe on that lay-land. 

Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande 

All over his head so hye : 
"And here I sweare by the holy roode, 

Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye." 

Then up and came that ladye brighte, 

Faste wringing of her hande : 
"For the mayden's love, that most you love, 

Withold that deadlye brande : 

"For the mayden's love, that most you love, 

Now smyte no more I praye ; 
And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord, 

He shall thy bests obaye." 

"Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, 

And here on this lay-land, 
That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye. 

And therto plight thy hand : 

"And that thou never on Eldridge hill come 

To sporte, gamon, or playe ; 
And that thou here give up thy amies 

Until thy dying daye." 

The Eldridge knighte gave up his amies, 
"With many a sorrowfulle sighe ; 

And sware to obey Syr Cauline's hest, 
Till the tyme that he shold dye. 

And he then up, and the Eldridge knighte 

Sett him in his saddle anone ; 
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye, 

To thej'r castle are they gone. 



SIR CAULINE. 



201 



Then he tooke up the bloudy hand, 

That was so large of bone, 
And on it he founde five ringes of gold, 

Of knightes that had be slone. 

Then he tooke nj) the Eldrldge sworde. 

As hard as any flint ; 
And he tooke oft" those ringes five, 

As bright as fyre and brent. 

Home then pricked Syr Cauline, 

As light as leafe on tree ; 
I-wys he neither stint ne blanne, 

Till he his ladye see. 

Then downe he knelt upon his knee 

Before that lady gay : 
" O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills ; 

These tokens I bring away." 

" Xow welcome, Avelcome, Syr Cauline, 

Thrice welcome unto mee, 
For now I perceive thou art a true knighte, 

Of valour bolde and free." 

"0 ladye, I am thy own true knighte. 

Thy bests for to obaye ; 
And mought I hope to winne thy love ! " — 

No more his tonge colde say. 

The ladye blushed scarlette redde, 

And fette a gentill sighe : 
"Alas! syi* knight, how may this bee. 

For my degree 's soe highe ? 

" But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth. 

To be my bachelere, 
lie promise, if thee I may not wedde, 

I will have none other fere." 

Then shee held forthe her liley-white hand 

Towards that knighte so free ; 
He gave to it one gentill kisse, 
His heart was brought from bale to blisse. 

The teares sterte from his ee. 

' I5ut keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline, 

iSTe let no man it knowe ; 
For, and over my father sholde it ken, 

1 wot lie woldc us sloe." 
30 



From that daye forthe, that ladye fayre 
Lovde Syr Cauline the knighte ; 

From that daye forthe, he only joyde 
Whan shee was in his sight. 

Yea, and oftentimes they mette 

Within a fayre arboure, 
Where they, in love and sweet daliaunce, 

Past manye a pleasaunt houre. 



THE SECOND PART. 

EvEETE white will have its blacke, 

And everye sweete its sowre : 
This founde the ladye Christabelle 

In an untimely howre. 

For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline 

Was with that ladye faire. 
The kinge, her father, walked forthe 

To take the evenyng aire : 

And into the arboure as he went 

To rest his wearye feet. 
He found his daughter and Syr Caiiline 

There sette in daliaunce sweet. 

The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys, 

And an angrye man was hee : 
"Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawo, 

And rewe shall thy ladie." 

Then forthe Syr Cauline he was leddc. 
And throwne in dungeon deepe ; 

And the ladye into a towre so hye, 
There left to wayle and wsepe. 

The queene she was Syr Cauline's friend, 

And to the kinge sayd shee : 
"I pray you save Syr Cauline's life, 

And let him banisht bee." 

"Now, dame, that traytoure shall be sent 

Across the salt-sea fome ; 
But here I will make thee a band, 
If ever he come within this land, 

A foule deathe is his doome." 



'2012 POEMS ( 


3F LOVE. 


All woe-begone was that gentil Knight 


And now three days were presllye past 


To parte from his ladye ; 


In feates of chivalrye. 


Ami many a time he sighed sore, 


When lo ! upon the fourth morninge, 


And cast a wistfulle eye : 


A sorrowfulle sight they see : 


"Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte, 




I'arre lever had I dye." 


A hugye giaunt stifte and starke. 




All foule of limbe and lerc. 


Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright, 


Two goggling eyen, like fire forden, 


"Was had forthe of the towre ; 


A mouthe from eare to eare. 


But ever shee droopeth in her minde, 
As nipt by an ungentle winde 
Doth some faire liley flowre. 


Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, 

That waited on his knee ; 
And at his backe five heads he bare, 


And ever shee doth lament and weepe, 


All wan and pale of blee. 


To tint her lover soe : 
" Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, 
But I Avill still be true." 


"Sir," quoth the dwarffe, and louted lov/e, 

"Behold that hend soldain ! 
Behold these heads I beare with me ! 


Manye a kinge, and manye a duke. 


They are kings which he hath slain. 


And lorde of high degree, 
Did sue to that fayre ladye of love ; 


" The Eldridge knight is his own qousine. 
Whom a knight of thine hath shent ; 


But never siiee wolde them nee. 


And bee is come to avenge his wrong : 




And to thee, all thy knightes among. 


Wlou manye a daye was past and gone, 


Defiance here hath sent. 


Xe comforte shee colde finde. 




The kynge proclaimed a tourneament, 


" But yette he will appease his wrath. 


To cheere his daughter's mind. 


Thy daughter's love to winne ; 




And, but thou yeelde him that fayre maid, 


And there came lords, and there came knights 


Tliy halls and towers must brenne. 


Fro manye a farre countrye. 
To break a spere for theyr ladye's love, 
Before that faire ladye. 


" Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee. 

Or else thy daughter dere ; 
Or else within these lists soe broad, 


And many a ladye there was sette, 


Thou must finde him a peere." 


In purple and in palle ; 
But faire Christabelle, soe woe-begone. 
Was the fayrest of them all. 


The kinge he turned him round aboute, 

And in his heart was woe : 
"Is there never a knighte of my round table 




This matter will undergoe ? 


Then manye a knighte was mickle of might. 




Before his ladye gaye ; 


" Is there never a knighte amongst yee all 


But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, 


Will fight for my daughter and mee ? 


lie wan the prize cche daye. 


Whoever will fight yon grimme soldan, 




Eight fair his meede shall bee. 


His acton it was all of blacke. 




His hewberke and his sheelde ; 


"For hee shall have my broad lay -lands, 


ISTe noe man wist Avhence he did come. 


And of my crowne be heyre ; 


Ne noe man knewe where he did gone. 


And he shall Aviiine fayre (Jhristabelle 


When tlicy came out the feelde. 


To be his wedded fere." 



SIR CAULINE, 



20c 



But every knighte of his round table 

Did stand both still and pale ; 
For, whenever they lookt on the grim soldan, 

It made their hearts to quail. 

All woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 
"When she sawe no helpe was nye : 

She cast her thought on her owne true-love, 
And the teares gusht from her eye. 

Up then sterte the stranger knighte, 

Sayd, " Ladye, be not aflfrayd ; 
He fight for thee with this grimme soldan, 

Thoughe he be unmacklye made. 

"And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge 
sworde, 

That lyeth within thy bowre, 
I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende, 

Thoughe ho be stiff in stowre." 

" Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde," 
The kinge he cryde, " with speede : 

T^Iowe, heaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; 
My daughter is thy meede." 

The gyaunt he stepped into the lists. 

And sayd, "Awaye, awaye! 
I sweare, as I am the hend soldan. 

Thou lettest me here all daye." 

Then forthe the stranger knight he came, 

In his blacke arraoure dight ; 
The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, 

"That this were my true knighte ! " 

And nowe the gyaunt and knight be mett 

Within the lists soe broad ; 
And now, with swordes soe sharpe of Steele, 

They gan to lay on load. 

The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke 

That made him reele asyde ; 
Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 

And thrice she deeply sighde. 

The soldan strucke a second sti'oke, 
And made the blonde to flowe ; 

All pale and wan was that ladye fayre, 
And thrice she wept for woe. 



The soldan strucke a third fell stroke. 
Which brought the knighte on his knee ; 

Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart, 
And she shriekt loud shriekings three. 

The knighte he leapt upon his feete. 

All recklesse of the pain ; 
Quoth hee, "But heaven bo now my speede. 

Or else I shall be slaine." 

He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte, 

And spying a secrette part, 
lie drave it into the soldan 's syde. 

And pierced him to the heart. 

Then all the people gave a shoute, 
Whan they sa\. the soldan falle ; 

The ladye wept, and thanked Christ 
That had reskewed her from thrall. 

And nowe the kinge, with all his barons, 

Eose uppe from offe his seate. 
And downe he stepped into the listes 

That curteous knighte to greete. 

But he, for payne and lacke of blonde, 

Was fallen into a swounde. 
And there, all walteringe in his gore, 

Lay lifelesse on the grounde. 

"Come downe, come downe, my daughtei 
deare, 

Thou art a leeche of skille ; 
Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes 

Than this good knighte sholde spille." 

Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye, 

To helpe him if she maye ; 
But when she did his beavere raise, 
" It is my life, my lord ! " she sayes. 

And shriekte and swound awaye. 

Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes. 

When he heard his ladye crye : 
" ladye, I am thine owne true love ; 

For thee I wisht to dye." 

. Then giving her one partinge looke. 

He closed his eyes in death, 
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, 

Begano to drawe her breathe. 



204 POEMS OF LOVE. 


But when she found her comelye knighto 


That she was in. Now I begin. 


Indeed was dead and gone, 


So that ye me answere ; 


She lajde her pale, cold cheeke to his, 


Wherefore, all ye that present be. 


And thus she made her nioane : 


I pray you, give an ear. 




I am the knight ; I come by night, 


" Oh stave, my deare and onlye lord. 


As secret as I can ; 


For mee, thy faithfulle fere ; 


Saying, "Alas! thus standeth the case, 


'T is meet that I shold foUowe thee. 


I am a banished man." 


Who hast hought my love so deare." 


SHE. 

And I your will for to fulfil 


Tlien fayntinge in a deadlye swoime. 


And with a deep-fette sighe 


In this will not refuse ; 


That burst her gentle heart in twayne. 


Trusting to shew, in wordes few. 


Fayre Christabelle did dye. 


That men have an ill use 


A.NONTMOUS. 


(To their own shame) women to blame, 




And causeless them accuse : 
Therefore to you I answer now. 






All women to excuse — 


THE NUT-BROWN MAID. 


Mine own heart dear, with you what cherel 


• 


I pray you, tell anone ; 


Be it right, or wrong, these men among 


For, in my mind, of all mankind 


On women do complain ; 


I love but you alone. 


Affirming this, how that it is 




A labour spent in vain 


HE. 


To love them wele ; for never a dele 


It standeth so ; a dede is do 


They love a man again : 


Whereof great harm shall grow : 


For let a man do wliat he can, 


My destiny is for to die 


Their favour to attain, 


A shameful death, I trowe ; 


Yet, if a new do them pursue, 


Or else to flee ; the one must be. 


Their first true lover then 


None other way I know. 


Laboureth for nought, for from her thought 


But to withdraw as an outlaw, 


He is a banished man. 


And take me to my boAV. 




Wherefore, adieu, my own heart true ! 


I say not nay, but that all day 


None other rede I can ; 


It is both writ and said 


For I must to the green Avood go. 


That woman's faith is, as who saith. 


Alone, a banished man. 


All utterly decayed; 




But, nevertheless, riglit good witness 


SHE. 


In this case might be laid, 


Lord, what is this worldys bliss, 


That they love true, and contintie, 


That changeth as the moon ! 


Eecord the nut-brown maid : 


My summer's day in lusty May 


Which, when her love came, her to prove. 


Is darked before the noon. 


To her to make his moan. 


I hear you say farewell : nay, nay. 


Would not depart ; for in her heart 


We depart not so soon. 


She loved but him alone. 


Why say ye so ? Wheder will ye go ? 




Alas ! what have ye done ? 


Then between us let us discuss 


All my welfare to sorrow and care 


What was all the manere 


Should change, if ye were gone; 


Between them too : we will also 


For, in my mind, of all mankind 


Tell all the pain and fore 


I love but you alone. 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID. 



205 



I can believe, it shall you grieve, 

And somewhat you distrain ; 
But afterward your paines hard 

Within a day or twain 
Shall soon aslake ; and ye shall take 

Comfort to you again. 
Wliy should ye ought? for to make thought, 

Your labour were in vain. 
And thus I do ; and pray you too. 

As heartily as I can ; 
For I must to the green wood go. 

Alone, a banished man. 



Now, sith that ye have shewed to me 

The secret of your mind, 
I shall be plain to you again. 

Like as ye shall me find. 
Sith it is so, that ye will go. 

I woUe not leave behind ; 
Shall never be said, the nut-brown maid 

Was to her love unkind : 
Make you ready, for so am I, 

Although it were anone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



Yet I you rede to take good heed 

What men will think and say : 
Of young and old it shall be told. 

That ye be gone away. 
Your w^anton will for to fultil. 

In green wood you to play ; 
And that ye might from your delight 

Xo longer make delay. 
Rather than ye should thus for me 

Be called an ill woman, 
Yet would I to the green wood go. 

Alone, a banished man. 

snE. 
Though it be sung of old and young 

That I should be to blame. 
Theirs be the charge, that speak so large 

In hurting of my name ; 
For I will prove that faithful love 

It is devoid of shame ; 
In your distress and heaviness 

To part with you, the same ; 



And sure all tho that do not so, 
True lovers are they noiie ; 

For, iu my mind, of all mankind 
I love but you alone. 



I counsel you, remember how 

It is no maiden's law, 
Nothing to doubt, but to renne out 

To wood with an outlaw : 
For ye must there in your hand bear 

A bow, ready to draw ; 
And, as a thief, thus must you live. 

Ever in dread and awe ; 
Whereby to you great harm might gi-ow : 

Yet had I lever than, 
That I had to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

I think not nay, but as ye say. 

It is no maiden's lore ; 
But love may make me for your sake, 

As I have said before. 
To come on foot, to hunt, and shoot 

To get us meat in store ; 
For so that I your company 

May have, I ask no more : 
From which to part, it maketh my heart 

As cold as any stone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

For an outlaw this is the law. 

That men him take and bind ; 
Without pity hanged to be. 

And waver with the wind. 
If I had nede, (as God forbede !} 

What rescue could ye find ? 
Foi'sooth, I trow, ye and your bow 

For fear would draw behind ; 
And no mervayle : for little avail 

Were in your counsel then ; 
Wherefore I will to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

Riglit well know ye that women be 

But feeble for to fight ; 
No womanhede it is indeed 

To be bold as a knight ; 



206 POEMS OF LOVE. 


Yet ill such fear if that ye were 


SHE. 


With enemies day or night, 


Among the wild dere, such an archere 


I would withstand, with bow in hand, 


As men say that ye be. 


To greve them as I might, 


Ne may not fail of good vitayle, 


And you to save ; as women have 


Where is so great plenty : 


From death men many a one ; 


And water clear of the ryvere 


For, in my mind, of all mankind 


Shall be full sweet to me ; 


I love but you alone. 


With which in liele I shall right wele 




Endm-e, as ye sliall see ; 


HE. 


And, or we go, a bed or two 


Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede 


I can provide anone ; 


That ye could not sustain 


For, in my mind, of all mankind 


The thorny ways, the deep valleys. 


I love but you alone. 


The snow, the frost, the rain. 




The cold, the heat : for, dry or wet. 


HE. 


We must lodge on the plain ; 


Lo ! yet, before, ye must do more, 


And, us above, none other roof 


If ye will go with me: 


But a brake bush, or twain ; 


As cut your hair up by your ear, 


Which soon should grieve you, I believe ; 


Your kirtle by the knee ; 


And ye would gladly then 


With bow in hand for to withstand 


That I had to the green wood go, 


Your enemies, if need be ; 


Alone, a banished man. 


And this same night before day-light, 




To wood-ward will I flee. 


SHE. 


If that ye will all this fulfil. 


Sith I have here been pavtynere 

With you of joy and bliss, 
I must also part of your woe 


Do it shortly as ye can ; 
Else will I to the green wood go, 
Alone, a banished man. 


Endure, as reason is ; 


SHE. 


Yet am I sure of one pleasiire ; 

And, shortly, it is this : 
That, where ye be, me seemeth, parde, 

I could not fare amiss. 
Without more speech, I you beseech 


I shall as now do more for you 
Than 'longeth to womanhede ; 

To shorte my hair, a bow to bear, 
To shoot in time of need. 

my sweet mother, before all other 


That we were soon agone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 
I love but you alone. 


For you I have most drede ; 

But now, adieu ! I must ensue, 

Where fortune doth me lead. 




All this make ye : now let us flee ; 


HE. 


The day cometli fast upon ; 


If ye go thyder, ye must consider, 


For, in my mind, of all mankind 


AVhen ye have lust to dine. 


I love but you alone. 


There shall no meat be for you gete, 




Nor drink, beer, ale, nor wine. 


HE. 


JSTo shetes clean, to lie between. 


Nay, nay, not so ; ye shall not go 


Made of thread and twine ; 


And I shall tell ye why, 


None other house but leaves and boughs. 


Your appetite is to be light 


To cover your head and mine ; 


Of love, I wele aspy : 


mine heart sweet, this evil diete 


For, like as ye have said to me, ■ 


Should make you pale and Avan ; 


In like wise hardely 


Wherefore I will to the green wood go, 


Ye would answere whosoever it were. 


Alone, a baiiished man. 


In way of company. 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID, 



20'/ 



It is said of old, Soon liot, soon cold ; 

And so is a woiutii-i ; 
Wheroforc I to the wood -will go 

Alone, ;i banished man. 



If ye take heed, it is no need 

Such words to say by me ; 
For oft ye prayed, and long assayed. 

Or I you loved, parde ; 
And though that I of ancestry 

A baron's daughter be, 
Yet have you proved how I you loved 

A squire of low degree ; 
And ever shall, whatso befall ; 

To die therefore anono ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



A baron's child to be beguiled ! 

It Avere a cursed dede ; 
To be feliiwe with an outluwe ! 

Almighty God forbede ! 
Yet better were, the poor squyere 

Alone to forest ycde. 
Than ye should say another day. 

That, by my cursed dede. 
Ye were betrayed ; wherefore, good maid, 

The best rede that I can. 
Is, that I to the green wood ^o. 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

"Whatever befall, I never shall 

Of this thing you upbraid ; 
But if ye go, and leave me so. 

Then have ye me betrayed. 
Remember you wele, how that ye dele ; 

For if ye, as ye said, 
Be so unkind, to leave behind. 

Your love, the nut-brown maid, 
Trust me truly, that I shall die 

Soon after ye be gone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

If that ye went, yo should repent ; 

For in tlie forest now 
I have pnrvayed me of a maid, 

Whom I love more than you ; 



Another,fayrere than ever ye were, 

I dare it wele avow ; 
And of you Iwth each should be wroth 

With other, as I trow : 
It were mine ease to live in peace ; 

So will I, if I can ; 
Wherefore I to the wood will go. 

Alone, a banished man. 



Though in the wood I understood 

Ye had a paramour, 
All this may nought remove my thought, 

But that I will be your : 
And she shall finde me soft and kind, 

And courteys every hour ; 
Glad to fulfil all that she will 

Command me to my power : 
For had ye, lo ! an hundred mo, 

Of them I would be one ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



Mine own dear love, I see the proof 

That ye be kind and true ; 
Of maid, and wife, in all my life. 

The best that ever I knew. 
Be merry and glad, be no more sad, 

The case is changed new ; 
For it were ruth, that, for your truth, 

Ye should have cause to rue. 
Be not dismayed, whatsoever I said 

To you, when I began ; 
I will not to the green wood go, 

I am no banished man. 



These tidings be more glad to me. 

Than to be made a queen. 
If I were sure they should endure : 

But it is often seen. 
When men will break promise, they speali 

The wordes on the splene. 
Ye shape some wile me to beguile. 

And steal from me, I ween ; 
Then were the case worse than it was, 

And I more wo-bcgone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



208 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Ye shall not nede further to drede ; 

I will not disparage 
Yon, (God defend !) sith ye dot^oend 

Of so great a lineage. 
NoAV understand ; to "Westmoreland, 

Which is mine heritage, 
I will you bring ; and with a ring, 

By way of marriage 
I will you take, and lady make, 

As shortly as I can : 
Thus have you won an erly's son, 

And not a banished man. 

AUTHOR. 

Here may ye see, that women be 

In love, meek, kind, and stable ; 
Let never man reprove them then. 

Or call them variable ; 
l)ut rather pray God that we may 

To them be comfortable ; 
Wliich sometime proveth such, as he loveth. 

If they be charitable. 
For sith men would that women should 

Be meek to them each one ; 
Aluch more ought they to God obey, 

.\nd serve but him alone. 

Anonymotjs. 



YOUis-G BEICHAN AFD SUSIE PYE. 

In London Avas young Beichan born. 
He longed strange countries for to see ; 

But he was taen by a savage Moor, 
V/ho handled him right cruellie ; 

For he viewed the fashions of that land : 
Their way of worship viewed he ,• 

But to Mahound, or Termagant, 
Would Beichan never bend a knee. 

So in every shoulder they '^e putten a bore ; 

In every bore they 've putten a tree ; 
And they have made him trail the wine 

And spices on his fair bodie. 

They 've casten him in a dungeon deep. 
Where he could neither hear nor see ; 

For seven years they kept him there, 
Till he for hunger's like to die. 



This Moor he had but ae daughter, 
Her name was called Susie Pye; 

And every day as she took the air, 
Near Beichan's prison she passed by. 

Oh so it fell, upon a day 

She heard young Beichan sadly sing ; 
"My hounds they all go masterless ; 

My hawks tliey flee from tree to tree ; 
My younger brother will heir my land ; 

Fair England again I '11 never see ! " 

All night long no rest she got, 

Y^'oung Beichan's song for thinking on ; 

She 's stown the keys from her father's head, 
And to the prison strong is gone. 

And she has opened the prison doors, 

I wot she opened two or three. 
Ere she could come young Beichan at, 

He was locked up so curiouslie. 

But when she came young Beichan before. 
Sore wondered he that may to see ; 

He took her for some fair captive ; — 
"Fair Lady, I pi'ay, of what countne?" 

" Oh have ye any lands," she said, 
" Or castles in your own countrie. 

That ye could give to a lady fair. 

From prison strong to set you free ? '' 

"Near London town I have a hall, 
With other castles two or three ; 

I' 11 give tliem all to the lady fair 
That out of prison will set me free." 

" Give me the truth of your right hand, 

The truth of it give unto me, 
That for seven years ye '11 no lady wed, 

Unless it be along with me." 

" I '11 give tiiee the truth of my right hand, 

The truth of it I '11 freely gie. 
That for seven years I '11 stay unwed. 

For the kindness tliou dost show to me." 

And she has bribed the proud warder 
Wi' mickle gold and white monie ; 

She 's gotten the keys of the prison strong, 
And she has set young Beichan free. 



YOUNG- BEICHAN AND SUSIE PYE. 



'iOS 



She 's gi'en him to eat the good spice-cake, 
She 's gi'en liim to drink the blood-red wine ; 

Slie 's bidden liim sometimes tliink on lier 
That sae kindly freed him out of pine. 

Slie 's broken a ring from her finger, 
And to Beichan half of it gave she : 

" Keep it, to mind you of that love 
The lady borr that set you free, 

" And set your foot on good ship-board. 
And haste ye back to your own countrie ; 

And before that seven years have an end, 
Come back again, love, and marry me." 

But long ere seven years had an end, 
She longed full soi'e her love to see ; 

For ever a voice within her breast 

Said, " Beichan has broke his vow to thee." 

So she 's set her foot on good ship-board, 
And turned her back on her own countrie. 

She sailed east, she sailed west, 

Till to fair England's shore she came ; 

Wliere a bonny shepherd she espied. 
Feeding his sheep upon the j^lain. 

" What news, what news, thou bonny shep- 
herd? 

AYhat news has thou to tell to me ? " 
" Such news I hear, ladie," he says, 

"The like was never in this countrie. 

" There is a wedding in yonder hall, 
Has lasted these thirty days and three ; 

Young Beichan will not bed with his bride, 
For love of one that 's yond the sea." 

She 's put her hand in her pocket, 
Gi'en him the gold and white monie ; 

" Here, take ye that, my bonny boy. 
For tlie good news thou tell'st to me." 

When slie came to young Beichan's gate, 

She tirled softly at the pin ; 
So ready was the proud porter 

To open and let this lady in. 

"Is this young Beichan's hall," she said, 
" Or is that noble lord within ? " 

"Yea, he's in the hall among them all. 
And this is the day o' his M'oddin." 
31 



" And has he wed anither love ? 

And has he clean forgotten me ? " 
And, sigliin', said that gay ladie, 

"I wish I were in my own countrie." 

And she has taen her gay gold ring, 
That with her love she brake so free ; 

Says, " Gie him that, ye proud porter. 
And bid the bridegroom speak to me." 

When the porter came his lord before, 
lie kneeled down low on his knee — 

" What aileth thee, my proud porter. 
Thou art so full of courtesie ? " 

"I 've been porter at your gates, 
It 's thirty long years now and three ; 

But there stands a lady at them now, 
The like o' her did I never see ; 

"For on every finger she has a ring. 
And on her mid finger she has three ; 

And as meickle gold aboon her brow 
As would buy an earldom to me." 

Its out then spak the bride's mother. 
Aye and an angry woman was shee ; 

"Y'e might have excepted our bonny bride. 
And twa or three of our companie." 

"Oh hold your tongue, thou bride's mother; 

Of all your folly let me be ; 
She 's ten times fairer nor the bride, 

And all that 's in your companie. 

"She begs one sheave of your white bread^ 
But and a cup of your red wine ; 

And to i-emember the lady's love, 
That last relieved you out of pine.'* 

" Oh well-a-day ! " said Beiclian then^ 
" That I so soon have married thee !' 

For it can be none but Susie Pye, 
That sailed the sea for love of me." 

And quickly hied he down the stair ; 

Of fifteen steps he made but three ; 
He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms, 

And kist, and kist her teuderlie. 



210 



POEMS or LOVE. 



" Oh hae yo ta'en aiiither bride ? 

And liae ye quite forgotten me ? 
And hae ye quite forgotten her, 

That gave you hfe and libertie ? " 

She looked o'er her left shoulder, 
To hide the tears stood in her e'e : 

" I^ow fiire thee well, young Beichan," she 
says, 
" I'll try to think no more on thee." 

'■'■ O never, never, Susie Pye, 

For surely this can never be ; 
Nor ever shall I wed but her 

That's done and dree'd so much for me." 

Then out and spak the forenoon bride — 
" My lord, your love it changeth soon ; 

This morning I was made your bride, 
And another chose ere it be noon." 

" Oh hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride ; 

Ye 're ne'er a whit the worse for me ; 
And whan ye return to your own countrie, 

A double dower I'll send with thee." 

He's taen Susie Pye by the white hand. 
And gently led her up and down ; 

And ay, as he kist her red rosy lips, 
"Ye 're welcome, jewel, to your own." 

He 's taen her by the milk-white hand. 
And led her to yon fountain stane ; 

He 's changed her name from Susie P3'e, 
And he 's called her his bonny love, Lady 
Jane. 

Anonymots. 



LORD LOVEL. 

Lord Lovel he stood at his castle gate. 

Combing his milk-white steed ; 
When up came Lady Nancy Belle, 

To wish her lover good speed, speed. 

To wish her lover good speed. 

" Where are you going. Lord Lovel ? " she 
said, 

" Oil ! whore are you going ? " said she ; 
" I 'm going my Lady Nancy Belle, 

Strange countries for to see, to see. 

Strange countries for to see." 



" When will you be back. Lord Lovel ? " said 
she ; 

" O ! when will you come back ? " said she ; 
" In a year or two — or three, at the most, 

I '11 return to my fair Nancy-cy, 

I '11 return to my fair Nancy." 

But he had not been gone a year and a day, 
Strange countries for to see, 

When languishing thoughts came into his 
head. 
Lady Nancy Belle he Avould go see, see. 
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see. 

So lie rode, and he rode on his milk-white 
steed. 
Till he came to London town. 

And there he heard St. Pancras' bells, 

And the people all mourning, round, roun.-l. 
And the people all mourning round. 

"Oh, what is the matter," Lord Lovel he said, 
" Oh ! what is the matter ? " said he ; 

"A lord's lady is dead," a woman replied, 
" And some call her Lady Nancy-cy, 
And some call her Lady Nancy." 

So he ordered the grave to be opened wide, 
And the shroud he turned down. 

And there he kissed her clay-cold lips, 
Till the tears came trickling down, down. 
Till the tears came trickling doAvn. 

Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day, 
Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow ; 

Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief, 
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow, sorrow, 
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow. 

Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' church. 
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir ; 

xVnd out of her bosom there grew a red rose, 
And out of her lover's a brier, brier, 
And out of her lover's a brier. 

They grew, and they grew, to the churcli 
steeple top, 
And then they could grow no higher : 
So there they entwined in a true-lover's knot, 
For all lovers true to admire-mire. 
For all lovers true to admire. 

Anonymous. 



ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-D ALE. 211 




" Yesterday I should have married a maid, 


EOBIN HOOD AND ALLEX-A-DALE. 


But she was from me ta'en. 




And chosen to be an old knight's deliglit, 


Come listen to me, you gallants so free, 


Whereby my poor heart is slain." 


All you that love mirth for to hear, 




And I will tell you of a bold outlaw, 


" What is thy name ? " then said Robin Hood, 


That lived in Nottinghamshire. 


" Come tell me, without any fail." 




" By the faith of my body," then said the 




young man, 


As Robin Hood in the forest stood, 


"My name it is Allen-a-Dale." 


All under the greenwood tree, 




There he was aware of a brave young man, 




As line as fine might be. 


"What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood, 




" In ready gold or fee, 




To help thee to thy true love again. 


The youngster was clad in scarlet red. 


And deliver her unto thee ? " , 


In scarlet fine and gay ; 




And he did frisk it over the plain, 




And chaunted a roundelay. 


"I have no money," then quoth the young 




man. 




No ready gold nor fee. 


As Robin Hood next morning stood 


But I will swear upon a book 


Amongst the leaves so gay, 


Thy true servant for to be." 


There did he espy the same young man 




Come drooping along the way. 


"How many miles is it to thy true lovei' 




Come tell me without guile." 


The scarlet he wore the day before 


"By the faith of my body," then said tlie 


It was clean cast away ; 


young man, 


And at every step he fetched a sigh, 


" It is but five little mile." 


"Alas ! and a well-a-day ! " 






Then Robin he hasted over the plain; 


Then stepped forth brave Little John, 


He did neither stint nor lin. 


And Midge, the miller's son ; 


Until he came unto the churcli 


Which made the young man bend his bow. 


"Where Allen should keep his weddin'. 


"When as he see them come. 






""What hast thou here? " the bishop then said; 


•' Stand off! stand oflP! " the young man said. 


" I prithee now tell unto me." 


" What is your will with me ? " 


" I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood, 


" You must come before our master straight. 


"And the best in the north country." 


Under yon greenwood tree." 






" Oh welcome, oh welcome," the bishop he 


And when he came bold Robin before. 


said ; 


Robin asked him courteously, 


" That music best pleaseth me." 


'' 0, hast thou any money to spare, 


" You shall have no music," quoth Robin Hood, 


For my merry men and me ? " 


" Till the bride and bridegroom I see." 


" I have no money," the young man said, 


With that came in a Avealthy knight, 


"But five shillings and a ring; 


"^'hich was both grave and old ; 


And that I have kept tins seven long years, 


And after him a fililSkin lass, 


To have at my wedding. 


Did shine like the glistering gold. 



212 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



" This is not a fit match," quoth Robin Ilood, 

" That you do seem to make liere ; 
For since we are come into the church, 

Tlie bride shall chuse her own dear." 
f 
Tlien Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, 

And blew blasts two or three ; 
Vt'lien four-aud-twenty yeomen bold 

Came leaping over the lea. 

And when they came into the church-yard, 

Marching all in a row, 
The first man was Allen-a-Dale, 

To give bold Robin liis bow. 

" Tills is lliy true love," Robin he said, 
" Young Allen, as I hear say; 

And you shall be married this same time, 
Uc'lbre we depart away." 

" That shall not be," the bishop he cried, 
" For thy word shall not stand ; 

They shall be three times asked in the church, 
As the law is of our land." 

Robin Hood pulled oft' the bishop's coat, 

And put it upon Little John ; 
" By the faith of my body," then Robin said, 

" This cloth doth make thee a man." 

When Little John went into the quire. 

The people began to laugli ; 
He asked them seven times into church. 

Lest three times should not be enough. 

"Who gives mo tliis maid?" said Little John, 
Quoth Robin Hood, " That do I ; 

And he that takes her from Allen-a-Dale, 
Full dearly he shall her buy." 

.\nd Www liaviiig ended this merry wcddiiig, 

Tlio bride looked like a queen ; 
And so they returned to the merry green 
wood, 
Amongst the leaves so green. 

Anonymous. 



TRUTH'S INTEGRITY. 

FII'.ST PAliT. 

Over the mountains 

And under the waves. 
Over the fountams 

And under the graves. 
Tinder floods which are deepest, 

AVhich do Neptune obe}'. 
Over rocks wliieh are steepest, 

Love will find out the way. 

Where there is no place 

For the glow-worm to lie, 
Where there is no place 

For receipt of a fly. 
Where the gnat dares not venture, 

Lest herself fast she lay. 
But if Love come he will enter, 

And find out the way. 

You may esteem hira 

A child of his force, 
Or you may deem him 

A coward, which is worse ; 
But if he whom Love doth honor 

Be concealed from the day, 
Set a thousand guards upon him — 

Love will find out the way. 

Some think to lose him, 

Which is too unkind ; 
And some do suppose him, 

Poor heart, to be blind ; 
But if he were hidden. 

Do the best you may. 
Blind Love, if you so call liim, 

Will find out the way. 

Well may the eagle 

Stoop down to the fist, 
Or you may inveigle 

The phaMiix of the east ; 
With fear the tiger 's moved 

To give over their prey ; 
But never stop a lover — 

He will find out the way. 



THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 



213 



From Dover to Berwick, 

Aiid nations thereabout, 
Brave Guy, earl of Warwick, 

That champion so stout, 
With his warlike behavior. 

Through the world he did stray. 
To win his Phillis's favor — 

Love will find out the way. 

In order next enters 

Bevis so brave. 
After adventures 

And policy brave. 
To see whom he desired, 

His Josian so gay, 
For wliom his heart -was fired — 

Love will find out the way. 



SECOND PART. 

The Gordian knot 

Which true lovers knit. 
Undo it you cannot, 

Nor yet break it ; 
Make use of your inventions, 

Their fancies to betray, 
To frustrate their intentions — 

Love will find out the "way. 

From court to the cottage. 

In bower and in hall. 
From the king unto the beggar. 

Love conquers all. 
Though ne'er so stout and lordly. 

Strive or do what you may. 
Yet be you ne'er so hardy. 

Love will find out the way. 

Love hath power over princes. 

And greatest emperors ; 
In any provinces. 

Such is Love's i)ower 
There is no resisting. 

But him to obey ; 
In spite of all contesting. 

Love will find out the way. 

If that he were hidden, 

And all men that are 
Were strictly forbidden 

That place to declare, 



Winds that have no abidings. 

Pitying their delay. 
Would come and bring him tidings. 

And direct him the way. 

If the earth should part him, 

lie would gallop it o'er ; 
If the seas should o'erthwart him, 

He would swim to the shore. 
Should his love become a swallow, 

Through the air to stray, 
Love will lend wings to follow. 

And will find out the way. 

There is no striving 

To cross his intent. 
There is no contriving 

His plots to prevent ; 
But if once the message greet him. 

That his true love doth stay. 
If death should come and meet him, 

Love will find out the way. 

Anontmous. 



THE FEIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 

It was a friar of orders gray 
Walked forth to tell his beads ; 

And he met with a lady fair 
Clad in a pilgrim's weeds. 

" Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar ; 

I pray thee tell to me, 
If ever at yon holy shrine 

My true-love thou didst see." 

" And how should I know your true-love 

From many another one ? " 
" 0, by his cockle hat, and staff, 

And by his sandal shoon. 

"But chiefly by his face and mien. 

That were so fair to view ; 
His flaxen locks that sweetly curled. 

And eyes of lovely blue." 

"0 lady, he's dead and gone! 

Lady, he 's dead and gone ! 
And at his head %green grass turf, 

And at his heels a stone. 



iU 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



" Within these holy cloisters long 

He languished, and he died, 
Lamenting of a lady's love. 

And 'plaining of her pride. 

" Here bore him barefaced on his bier 

Six proper youths and tall. 
And many a tear bedewed his grave 

Within yon kirk-yard wall." 

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth? 

And art thou dead and gone ? 
And didst thou die for love of me ? 

Break, cruel heart of stone ! " 

" Oh weep not, lady, weep not so ; 

Some ghostly comfort seek : 
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, 

ISTor tears bedew thy cheek." 

" Oh do not, do not, holy friar, 

My sorrow now reprove ; 
For I have lost the sweetest yoath 

That e'er won lady's love^ ^ . 

" And now, alas ! for thy sad loss 
I '11 evermore weep and sigh : 

For thee I only wished to live, 
For thee I Avish to die." 

"AVeep no more, lady, Aveep no more. 

Thy sorroAV is in ,vain ; 
For violets plucked, the s)i^eetest showers 

Will ne'er make grow again. 

" Our joys as winged dreams do fly ; 

Why then should' sorrow last ? 
Since grief but aggravates thy loss, 

Grieve not for what is past." 

" Oh say not so, thou holy friar ; 

I pray thee, say not so ; 
For since my true-love died for me, 

'T is meet my tears should floAV. 

■' And Avill he never come again ? 

Will he ne'er come again ? 
Ah! no, lie is dead and laid in his grave : 

For CA'or to remain. ** 



" His cheek Avas redder than the rose ; 

The comeliest youth was he ! 
But he is dead and laid in his grave : 

Alas, and woe is me ! " 

" Sigh no more, lady, sigli no more. 

Men were deceivers ever : 
One foot on sea and one on land, 

To one thing constant never. 

•'Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, 

And left thee sad and heavy ; 
For young men even Avere fickle found, 
. Since summer trees were leafy." 

"Now say not so, thou holy friar, 

I pray thee say not so ; 

My love he had the truest heart — 

On he was ever true ! 
\ 

"And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth 

And didst thou die for me ? 
Tlien fareAV,ell homi ; for evermore 

A pilgrim I will be. 

" But first upon my true-love's grave 

My Aveary Ifmb^ I '11 lay. 
And thrice I "11 kiss the green-grass turf 

That wraps his breathless clay." 

"Yet stay, lair lady : rest awhile 

Beneath this cloister wall ; 
See through the hawthorn blows the cold 
Avind, 

And drizzly rain doth fall." 

" Oh stay me not, thou holy friar, 

Oh stay me not, I pray ; 
No drizzly rain that falls on me, 

Can wash my fault aAvay." * 

"Yet stay, fiiir lady, turn again, 

And dry those pearly tears ; 
For see beneath this gown of gray 

Thy own true-love appears. 

" Here forced by grief and hopeless love. 

These holy weeds I sought ; 
And here, amid these lonely walls, 

To end my days I thought. 



THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 



21£ 



"But liaplv, for luy year of grace 

Is not yet passed away, 
Might I still liope to win thy love, 

No longer would I stay." 

"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy 

Once more unto my heart ; 
For since I have found thee, lovely youth, 

We never more will part." 

Thomas Pekct. 



THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 

\Vu.L you hear a Spanish lady. 

How she wooed an English man? 
Garments gay,as rich as may be. 
Decked Avith jewels, had she on. 
Of a comely countenance and grace was 

she, 
A.nd by birth and parentage of high degree. 

As his prisoner there he kept her, 

In his hands her life did lye ; 
Cupid's bunds did tye her faster 
By the liking of an eye. 
In his courteous company was all her joy. 
To favour him in any thing she was not 
coy. 

At the last there came commandment 

For to set the ladies free, 
With their jewels still adorned. 
None to do them injury. 
"Alas ! " then said this lady gay, " full woe is 

me; 
Oh let nie still sustain this kind captivity ! 

"0 gallant captain, shew some pity 

To a ladye in distresse ; 
Leave me not within this city. 
For to dye in heavinesse. 
Thou hast set this present day my body 

free, 
But my heart in prison strong remains with 
thee." 



"How should 'st thou, fair lady, love me, 
Whom thou know'st thy country's foe? 
Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee: 
Serpents are where flowers grow." 
" All the evil I think to thee, most graciout 

knight, 
God grant unto myself the same may fully 
light. 

"Blessed be the time and season, 

That you came on Spanish ground ; 
If you may our foes be termed. 
Gentle foes we have you found : 
With our city, you have won our hearts each 

one ; 
Then to your country bear away that is your 
own." 

"Rest you still, most gallant lady; 

Eest you still, and weep no more ; 
Of fair lovers there are plenty, 

Spain doth yield a wondrous store." 
"Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often 

find, 
But Englishmen throughout the world are 
counted kind. 

" Leave me not unto a Spaniard, 

Y"ou alone enjoy my heart ; 
I am lovely, young, and tender, 
And so love is my desert. 
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is 

prest; 
The wife of every Englishman is counted 
blest." 

" It would be a shame, fair lady. 

For to bear a woman hence ; 
English soldiers never carry 
Any such without offence." 
" I will quickly change myself, if it be so. 
And like a page I'll follow thee, where'er 
thou go." 

" I have neither gold nor silver 
To maintain thee in this case, 
And to travel, 'tis great charges. 
As you know, in every place." 
"My chains and jewels everyone shall be 

thine own, 
And eke ten thousand pounds in gold that 
lies unknown." 



21G POEMS or LOVE. 


" On the seas are many dangers ; 




Many storms do tliere arise, 


THE HERMIT. 


AVhich will be to ladies dreadful, 




And force tears from wat'ry eyes." 


"Turn, gentle hermit of the dale. 


" Well in worth I could endure extremity, 


And guide my lonely way 


For I could find in heart to lose my life for 


To Avhere yon taper cheers the vale 


thee." 


With hospitable ray. 


" Courteous lady, be contented ; 


"For here forlorn and lost I tread, 


Here comes all that breeds the strife ; 


With fainting steps and slow ; 


I in England have already 


Where wilds, immeasurably spread, 


A sweet woman to my wife : 


Seem lengthening as I go." 


I will not falsifle my vow for gold or gain, 




Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in 


"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, 


Spain." 


" To tempt the dangerous gloom ; 




For yonder faithless phantom flies 


" Oh how happy is that woman 


To lure thee to thy doom. 


That enjoys so true a friend! 




" Here to the houseless child of Avant 


Many days of joy God send you! 




Of my suit I '11 make an end : 


My door is open still ; 


On my knees I pardon crave for this offence, 


And though my portion is but scant, 


Which love and true affection did first com- 


I give it with good will. 


mence. 


" Then turn to-night, and freely share 




Whate'er my cell bestows ; 


•' Commend me to thy loving lady ; 


My rushy couch and frugal fare, 


Bear to her this chain of gold, 


My blessing and repose. 


And these bracelets for a token ; 




Grieving that I was so bold. 


"No flocks that range the valley free 


All my jewels in like sort bear thou with thee, 


To slaughter I condemn ; 


For these are fitting for thy wife, and not for 


Taught by that power that pities me. 


me. 


I learn to pity them; 




" But from the monntain's grassy side 


"I will spend my days in prayer. 


A guiltless feast I bring ; 


Love and all her laws defie ; 


In a nunnery will I shroud me. 


A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, 




And water from the spring. 


Far from other company : 




But ere my prayers have end, be sure of this, 


" Then, pilgrim, turn; thy cares forego ; 


To pray for thee and for thy love I will not 


All earth-born cares are wrong : 


miss. 


Man wants but little here below. 




Nor wants that little long." 


"Thus farewell, most gentle captain. 




Ami farewell my heart's content ! 


Soft as the dew from heaven descends. 


Count not Spanish ladies wanton. 


His gentle accents fell ; 


Though to thee my love was bent : 


The modest stranger lowly bends. 


Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee ! " 


And follows to the cell. 


"The like fall ever to thy share, most fair 




lady." 


Far in a wilderness obscure 


Anoktmots. 


The lonely mansion lay ; 


^ 


A refuge to the neighboring poor, 




And strangers led astray. 



THE HERMIT. 



•iv, 



"Ro s-tores beneath its humble thatch 

Required a master's care: 
The wicket, opening with a latch, 

Received the harmless i)air. 

And now, when busy crowds retire 

To take their evening rest, 
The hermit trimmed his little fire. 

And cheered his pensive guest ; 

And spread his vegetable store. 

And gajly prest and smiled ; 
And, skilled in legendary lore, 

The lingering hours beguiled. 

Around, in sympathetic mirth. 

Its tricks the kitten tries ; 
The cricket chirrups on the hearth ; 

The crackling fagot flies. 

But nothing could a charm imi)art 
To soothe the stranger's woe : 

For grief was heavy at his heart, 
And tears began to flow. 

His rising cares the hermit spied, 
^Yith answering care opprest : 

"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, 
"The sorrows of thy breast? 

" From better habitations spurned. 

Reluctant dost thou rove ? 
Or grieve for friendship unreturned, 

Or unregarded love ? 

" Alas ! the joys that fortune brings 

Are trifling, and decay ; 
And those who prize the paltry things. 

More trifling still than they, 

" And what is friendship but a name, 

A charm that lulls to sleep ; 
A shade that follows wealtli or fame. 

And leaves the wretch to weep ? 

"And love is still an emptier sound, 

Tlie modern fair one's jest ; 
On earth unseen, or only found 

To warm the turtle's nest. 
32 



" For shame, fond youth ! thy sorrows liush, 

And spurn the sex," he said; 
But, while he spoke, a rising blush 

His lovelorn guest betrayed. 

Surprised, he sees new beauties rise, 

Swift mantling to the view ; 
Like colors o'er the morning skies, 

As bright, as transient too. 

The bashful look, the rising breast, 

Alternate spread alarms : 
The lovely stranger stands confest 

A maid in all her charms. 

" And, ah ! forgive a stranger rude, 
A wretch forlorn," she cried; 

'.' Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude 
Where heaven and you reside. 

" But let a maid thy pity share, 
Whom love has taught to stray ; 

Who seeks for rest, but finds despair 
Companion of her w^ay. 

"My father lived beside the Tyne, 

A wealthy lord was he ; 
And all his wealth was marked as mine, 

He had but only me. 

" To win me from his tender arms. 

Unnumbered suitors came ; 
Who praised me for imputed charms, 

And felt, or feigned, a flame. 

" Each hour a mercenary crowd 

With richest proffers strove : 
Among the rest young Edwin bowed, 

But never talked of love. 

" In humble, simplest habit clad. 

No wealth or power had he ; 
Wisdom and worth were all he had, 

But these were all to me. 

" And when beside me in the dale 

He carolled lays of love, 
Ilis breath lent fragrance to the gale, 

And music to the grove. 



218 



POEMS OF LOVE, 



" The blossom opening to the day, 

The clews of heaven refined, 
Could nought of purity display 

To emulate his mind. 

" Tlie dew, the blossoms of the tree. 
With charms inconstant shine ; 

Their charms were his, but, woe to me ! 
Their constancy was mine. 

•'For still I tried each fickle art, 

Importunate and vain ; 
And while his passion touched my heart, 

I triumphed in his pain : 

"Till, .quite dejected with my scorn, 

lie left me to my pride ; 
And sought a solitude forlorn. 

In secret, where he died. 

" But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, 

And well my life shall pay ; 
ril seek the solitude he sought, 

And stretch me where he lay. 

•• And there forlorn, despairing, hid, 

ril lay me down and die ; 
"Twas so for me that Edwin did, 

And so for him will I." 

"• Forbid it, lieaven ! " the hermit cried, 
And clasped her to his breast ; 

The wondering fair one turned to chide,— 
'Twas Edwin's self that prest. 

" Turn, Angelina, ever dear, 

My charmer, turn to see 
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, 

Ilestored to love and thee. 

'' Thus let me hold thee to my heart. 

And every care resign ; 
And shall we' never, never part, 

My life — my all that's mine ? 

" No, never from this hour to part, 

We'll live and love so true ; 
Tlie sigh that rends thy constant heart 

Shall break tliy Edwin's too." 

Oliver Goldsmitu. 



SWEET WILLIAM'S FAEEWELL TO 
BLACK-EYED SUSAN. 

All in the Downs the fioet was moored. 
The streamers waving in the wind. 

When black-eyed Susan came aboard. 
Oh ! Avhere shall I my true-love find ? 

Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true. 

If my sweet William sails among your crew, 

William, who high upon the yard 

Eocked with the billows to and fro, 
Soon as her well-known voice he heard. 

He sighed and cast his eyes below : 
The cord slides swiftly thi'ough his glowing 

hands. 
And, quick as lightning, on tlie deck he 
stands. 

So the sweet lark, liigh poised in air. 
Shuts close his pinions to his breast. 

If chance his mate's shrill call he hear. 
And drops at once into her nest. 

The noblest captain in the British fleet 

Might envy Williain's lip those kisses sweet. 

O Susan, Susan, lovely dear. 

My vows shall ever true remain ; 

Let me kiss off that falling tear ; 
We only part to meet again. 

Change, as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall 
be 

The faithful compass that still points to thee. 

Believe not what the landmen say. 

Who tempt w'ith doubts thy constant mind : 

They '11 tell thee, sailors, when away, 
In every port a mistress find : 

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so. 

For thou art present whereso'er I go. 

If to fair India's coast we sail. 

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, 

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale. 
Thy skin is ivory so white. 

Thus every beauteous object tliat I view. 

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 



THE SEAMAN'S HAPPY RETURN. 



219 



Tlioiigh battle call me from thy arms, 
Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 

Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms, 
William shall to his dear return. 

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, 

Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's 
eye. 

The boatswain gave the dreadful word, 
The sails their swelling bosom spread ; 

No longer must she stay aboard ; 

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. 

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land : 

Adieu ! she cries ; and waved her lily hand. 

John Gay. 



THE SEAMAN'S HAPPY EETUPvN. 

^YHEN■ Sol did cast no light; being darkened 
over, 

And the dark time of night did the skies 
cover, 

Ruiuiing a river by, there w'ere ships sail- 
ing, 

A maid most fair I spied, crying and wailing. 

Unto this maid I stept, asking what grieved 
her ; 

She answered me and wept, fates had de- 
ceived her : 

My love is prest, quoth she, to cross the 
ocean — 

Proud Avaves to make the ship ever in motion. 

We loved seven years and more, both being 
sure, 

But I am left on sbore, grief to endure. 

He promised back to tui'n, if life was spared 
him ; 

With grief I daily mourn death hath de- 
barred him. 

Straight a brisk lad she spied, made her ad- 
mire, 

A present she received pleased her desire. 

Is my love safe, quoth she, will he come near 
me? 

The young man answer made. Virgin, pray 
hear me. 



Under one banner bright, for England's glory, 
Your love and I did fight — mark well my 

story ; 
By an unhappy shot we two were parted ; 
His death's wound then he got, though 

valiant-hearted. <t 

All this I witness can, for I stood by him. 
For courage, I must say, none did outvie 

him ; 
He still Avould foremost be, striving for 

honor ; 
But fortune is a cheat, — vengeance upon her ! 

But ere he was quite dead, or his heart 

broken. 
To me these words he said, Pray give this 

token 
To my love, for there is than she no fairer ; 
Tell her she must be kind and love the 

bearer. 

Intombed he now doth lye in stately manner, 
'Cause he fought valiantly for love and hon- 
or. 
That right he had in you, to me he gave it ; 
Now since it is my due, pray let me have it. 

She, raging, flung away like one distracted. 
Not knowing what to say, nor what she 

acted. 
So last she cursed her fiite, and showed her 

anger, 
Saying, Friend, you come too late, I '11 have 

no stranger. 

To your own house return, I am best pleased 

Here for my love to mourn, since he 's de- 
ceased. 

In sable weeds I '11 go, let who will jeer me ; 

Since death has served me so, none shall 
come near me. 

The chaste Penelope mourned for Ulysses ; 
I have more grief than she, robbed of my 

blisses. 
I '11 ne'er love man again, therefore pray hear 

me ; 
I '11 slight you with disdain if you come near 

me. 



220 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



I know he loved me ■well, for when we 
pai-ted, 

None did in grief excel, — both were true- 
hearted. 

Those promises we made ne'er shall be 
broken ; 

Those words that then he said ne'er shall be 
spoken. 

lie hearing what she said, made his love 
stronger ; 

Off his disguise he laid, and staid no longer. 

When her dear love she knew, in wanton 
fashion 

Into his arms she flew, — such is love's pas- 
sion! 

He asked her how she liked his counter- 
feiting, 

Whether she was well pleased with such like 
greeting ? 

You are well versed, quoth she, in several 
speeches. 

Could you coin money so, you might get 
riches. 

O happy gale of wind that waft thee over! 
May heaven preserve that ship that brought 

my lover ! 
Come kiss me now, my sweet, true love's no 

slander ; 
Thou shalt my Hero be, I thy Leander. 

Dido of Carthage queen loved stout yEneas, 
But my true love is found more true than he 

was. 
Venus ne'er fonder was of younger Adonis, 
Than I will be of thee, since thy love her 

own is. 

Then hand in hand they walk with mirth 

and pleasure, 
They laugh, they kiss, they talk — love knows 

no measure. 
N"ow both do sit and sing — but she sings 

clearest ; 
Like nightingale in spring, Welcome my 

dearest ! 

Anonymous. 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was ! 
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; 
The hare limped trembling through the frozen 

grass. 
And silent was the flock in woolly fold : 
Numb were the headman's fingers while ho 

told 
His rosary, and while his frosted breath, 
Like pious incense from a censer old. 
Seemed taking flight for heaven Avithout a 

death. 
Past the sweet virgin's pictui-e, while hi' 

prayer he saith. 



His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man ; 
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his 

knees. 
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan. 
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees ; 
The sculptured dead, on each side seem to 

freeze, 
Emprisoned in black, purgatorial rails ; 
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, 
He passed by ; and his weak spirit fails 
To think how they may ache in icy hoods 

and mails. 



Northward he turneth through a little door, 
And scarce three steps, ere music's golden 

tongue 
Flattered to tears this aged man and poor ; 
But no — already had his death-bell rung; 
The joys of all his life were said and sung ; 
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve ; 
Another way he went, and soon among 
Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve. 
And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake 

to grieve. 



That ancient beadsman heaud the prelude soft; 
And so it chanced, for many a door was wide, 
From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft. 
The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide ; 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



221 



The level chambers, ready with their pride, 
"Were glowing to receive a thousand guests ; 
The carved angels, ever eager-eyed, 
Stared, where uj)on their heads the cornice 

rests, 
With hair blown back, and wings put cross- 

Avise on their breasts. 



At length burst in the argent revelry. 
With plume, tiara, and all rich array, 
Numerous as shadows haunting fairily 
The brain, new-stuffed, in youth, with 

triumphs gay 
Of old romance. These let us wish away ; 
And turn, sole-thoughted, to one lady there. 
Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry 

day. 
On love, and Avinged St. Agnes' saintly care, 
As she had heard old dames full many times 

declare. 

VI. 

They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, 
Young virgins might have visions of delight. 
And soft adorings from their loves receive 
Upon the honeyed middle of the night. 
If ceremonies due they did aright ; 
As, supperless to bed they must retire, 
And couch supine their beauties, lily white ; 
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require 
Of heaven with upward eyes for all that 
they desire. 



Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline ; 
The music, yearning like a god in pain, 
She scarcely heard ; her maiden eyes divine. 
Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping 

train 
Pass by — she heeded not at all ; in vain 
Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier. 
And back retired ; not cooled by high dis- 
dain, 
But she saw not; her heart was otherwhere ; 
She sighed for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest 
of the year. 



She danced along with vague, regardless eyes, 
Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and 
.short ; 



The hallowed hour was near at hand; she 

sighs 
Amid the timbrels, and the thronged resort 
Of whisperers in anger, or in sport ; 
'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn. 
Hoodwinked with fairy fancy ; all amort 
Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, 
And all the bliss to be before to-morrow 

morn. 



So, purposing each moment to retire. 

She lingered still. Meantime, across the 

moors, 
Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire 
For Madeline. Beside the portal doors. 
Buttressed from moonlight, stands he, and 

implores 
All saints to give him sight of Madeline ; 
But for one moment in the tedious hours. 
That he might gaze and worship all unseen ; 
Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss — in sooth 

such things have been. 



He ventures in ; let no buzzed whisper tell ; 
All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords 
Will storm his heart, love's feverous citadel ; 
For him, those chambers held barbarian 

hordes. 
Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords. 
Whose very dogs would execrations howl 
Against his lineage ; not one breast affords 
Him any unercy, in that mansion foul, 
Save one old beldame, weak in body and in 

soul. 



Ah, happy chance ! the aged creature came, 
Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand, 
To where he stood, hid from the torch's 

flame. 
Behind a broad hall-pillar, for beyond 
The sound of merriment and chorus bland. 
He startled her ; but soon she knew his face, 
And grasped his fingers in her palsied hand. 
Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from 

this place ; 
They are all here to-night, the whole blood- 
thirsty race ! 



222 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



"Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish 

Hildebrand ; 
He had a fever late, and in the fit 
He cursed thee and thine, both house and 

land ; 
Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a 

whit 
More tame for his gray hairs — Alas me ! flit! 
Flit like a ghost away ! " — "Ah, gossip dear, 
We 're safe enough ; here in this arm-chair 

sit. 
And tell me how" — "Good saints, not here, 

not here ; 
Follow me, child, or else these stones will be 

thy bier." 



He followed through a lowly arched way, 
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume ; 
And as she muttered " Well-a — well-a-day ! " 
He found him in a little moonlight room, 
Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb. 
" Now tell me where is Madeline," said he, 
" Oh tell me, Angela, by the holy loom 
Which none but secret sisterhood may see. 
When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving 
piously." 



" St. Agnes ! Ah ! it is St. Agnes' Eve- 
Yet men will murder upon holy days ; 
Thou must hold water in a witch's <sieve, 
And be liege-lord of all the elves and fays. 
To venture so. It fills me with amaze 
To see thee Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! 
God's help I my lady fair the conjurer plays 
This very night ; good angels her deceive ! 
But let me laugh awhile, I 've mickle time 
to grieve." 



Feebly slie laugheth in the languid moon. 
While Porphyro upon her face doth look. 
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone 
Who keepctli closed a wondrous riddle-book, 
As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. 
But soon his eyes grew brilliant, Avhen she 
told 



His lady's purpose ; and he scarce could 

brook 
Tears, at the thought of those enchantments 

cold. 
And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. 



Sudden a thought came like a full-blown 

rose, 
Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart 
Made purple riot ; then doth he propose 
xi stratagem, that makes the beldame start : 
" A cruel man and impious thou art ! 
Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep and dream 
Alone with her good angels, far apart 
From wicked men like thee. Go, go ! I deem 
Thou canst not surely be the same that thou 

didst seem." 



" I will not harm her, by all saints I swear !" 
Quoth Porphyro ; "Oh may I ne'er find grace 
When my weak voice shall whisper its last 

prayer. 
If one of her soft ringlets I displace, 
Or look with ruflian passion in her face ; 
Good Angela, believe me by these tears ; 
Or I will, even in a moment's space, 
Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, 
And beard them, though they be more fanged 

than wolves and bears." 



"Ah ! why wilt thou aifright a feeble soul ? 
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard 

thing. 
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnig'ht 

toll; 
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and 

evening. 
Were never missed." Thus plaining, doth 

she bring 
A gentler speech from burning Porphyro ; 
So woful, and of such deep sorrowing. 
That Angela gives promise she will do 
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or 

woe. 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



223 



Wliich was, to lead him, in close secrecy. 
Even to Madeline's chamber, and there liide 
Ilim in a closet, of such privacy 
That he might see her beauty unespied. 
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride ; 
Willie legioned fairies paced the coverlet, 
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed. 
Never on such a night have lovers met. 
Since Merlin paid his demon all the mon- 
strous debt. 



" It shall be as thou wishest," said the dame ; 
"All cates and dainties shall be stored there 
Quickly on this feast-night ; by the tambour 

frame 
Her own lute thou wilt see ; no time to spare, 
For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare 
On such a catering trust my dizzy head. 
Wait here, my child, with patience kneel in 

prayer 
The while. Ah ! thou must needs the lady 

wed. 
Or may I never leave my grave among the 

dead." 



So saying she hobbled oft" with busy fear. 
The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd ; 
The dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear 
To follow her ; with aged eyes aghast 
From fright of dim espial. Safe at last. 
Through many a dusky gallery, they gain 
The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd and 

chaste ; 
Where Porpliyro took covert, pleased amain. 
His poor guide hurried back with agues in 

her brain. 



Ilcr faltering hand upon the balustrade, 
Old Angela was feeling for the stair, 
Wlien Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, 
Ko.se, like a missioned spirit, imaware; 
With silver taper's light, and pious care. 
She turned, and down the aged gossip led 
To a safe level matting. Now prepare, 
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed ! 
She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove 
frayed and fled. 



Out went the taper as she hurried in ; 
Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died; 
She closed the door, she panted, all akin 
To spirits of the air, and visions wide ; 
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide ! 
But to her heart, her heart was voluble. 
Paining with eloquence her balmy side; 
As though a tongueless nightingale should 

swell 
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in 

her dell. 

XXIV. 

A casement high and triple-arched there was. 
All garlanded with carven imageries 
Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot- 
grass, 
And diamonded with panes of quaint device. 
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, 
As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked wings; 
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries. 
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, 
A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of 
queens and kings. 



Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, 
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair 

breast. 
As down she knelt for heaven's grace and 

boon; 
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, 
And on her silver cross soft amethyst, 
And on her hair a glory, like a saint ; 
She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest. 
Save wings, for heaven, Porphyro grew faint ; 
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal 

taint. 



Anon his heart revives ; her vespers done, 
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; 
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one ; 
Loosens her fragrant bodice ; by degrees 
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees ; 
Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, 
Pensive awhile she dreams aAvake, and sees. 
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, 
But dares not look behind, or all the charm 
is fled. 



224 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



XXVII. 

Soon, trembling in lier soft and chilly nest, 
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay, 
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed 
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away ; 
Flown like a thought, until the morrow-day ; 
Blissfully havened both from joy and pain; 
Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims 

pray ; 
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain. 
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud 

again. 

XXVIII. 

Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced, 
Pori)hyro gazed upon her empty dress, 
And listened to her breathing, if it chanced 
To wake into a slumberous tenderness ; 
Which when he heard, that minute did he 

bless, 
And breathed himself; then from the closet 

crept, 
Noiseless as fear in a Avide wilderness. 
And over the hushed carpet, silent, stept. 
And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo I — 

how fast she slept. 



Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon 
Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set 
A table, and, half anguished, threw thereon 
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet : — 
Oh for some drowsy Morphean amiilet ! 
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion. 
The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet, 
AflTay his ears, though but in dying tone : — 
The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise 
is gone. 



And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep. 
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavendered ; 
"While lie from forth the closet brought a 

heap 
Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and 

gourd ; 
With jellies soother than the creamy curd, 
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon ; 
Manna and dates, in argosy transferred 
From Fez ; and spiced dainties, every one. 
From silken Samarcand to cedared Lebanon. 



These delicates he heaped with glowing hand 
On golden dishes and in baskets bright 
Of wreathed silver. Sumptuous they stand 
In the retired quiet of the night, 
Filling the chilly room with perfume light. — 
" And now, my love, my seraph fair awake ! 
Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite ; 
Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake. 
Or I sliall drowse beside thee, so my soul 
doth ache." 

XXXII. 

Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm 
Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream 
By the dusk curtains; — 'twas a midnight 

charm 
Impossible to melt as iced stream : 
The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam ; 
Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies ; 
It seemed he never, never could redeem 
From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes ; 
So mused awhile, entoiled in woofed phanta- 



Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, — 
Tumultuous, — and, in chords that tenderest 

be, 
He played an ancient ditty, long since mute. 
In Provence called "La belle dame sans 

mercy ; " 
Close to her ear touching the melody ; — 
Wherewith disturbed, she uttered asoft moan ; 
He ceased— she panted quick — and suddenly 
Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone ; 
Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth- 
sculptured stone. 



Her eyes Avero open, but she still beheld. 

Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep. 

There was a painful change, that nigh ex- 
pelled 

The blisses of her dream" so pure and deep ; 

At which fair Madeline began to weep. 

And moan forth witless words with many a 
sigh ; 

While still her gaze on Porphyro would keen- 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



Who knelt, with joined hands and piteons 

eye, 
Fearing to move or speak, she looked so dream- 

ingly. 



' Ah, Porphyro ! " said she, " but even now 
Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, 
Made tunable with every sweetest vow ; 
And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear ; 
IIow changed thou art! how pallid, chill, 

and drear ! 
Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, 
Tiiose looks immortal, those complainings 

dear ! 
Oh leave me not in this eternal woe. 
For if thou diest, my love, I know not where 

to go." 

XXXVI. 

Beyond a mortal man impassioned far 
At these voluptuous accents, he arose. 
Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star 
Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose ; 
Into her dream he melted, as the rose 
Blendeth its odor with the violet, — 
Solution sweet ; meantime the frost-wind 

blows. 
Like love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet 
Against the window-panes ; St. Agnes' moon 

hath set. 

XXXVII. 

'Tis dark; quick pattereth the flaw-blown 

sleet ; 
" This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline ! " 
'T is dark ; the iced gusts still rave and beat : 
" No dream, alas ! alas ! and woe is mine ! 
Porphyro will leave me here to fade and 

pine. — 
Cruel ! what traitor could thee hither bring? 
T curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, 
Though thou forsakest a deceived thing ; — 
A dove forlorn and lost, with sick, unpruned 

wing," 



"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! 

Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest ? 

Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil 

dved 2 

33 



Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rcsit 
After so many hours of toil and quest, 
A famislied pilgrim, — saved by miracle. 
Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest. 
Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well 
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. 

XXXIX. 

" Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from fairy land, 
Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed : 
Arise — arise ! the morning is at hand ; — 
The bloated wassailers will never heed. 
Let us away, my love, with happy speed ; 
There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, — 
Drowned all in Ehenish and the sleepy mead. 
Awake ! arise ! my love, and fearless be. 
For o'er the southern moors I have a homo 
for thee." 



She hurried at his words, beset with fears. 
For there were sleeping dragons all around. 
At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears — 
Down the wide stairs a darkling way they 

found. 
In all the house was heard no human sound. 
A chain-drooped lamp was flickering by each 

door ; 
The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and 

hound. 
Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar ; 
And the long carpets rose along the gusty 

floor. 



They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall! 
Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide, 
Where lay the. porter, in uneasy sprawl, 
AVith a huge empty flagon by his side ; 
The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook hia 

hide, 
But his sagacious eye an inmate owns ; 
By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide ; 
The chains lie silent on the footworn stones ; 
The key turns, and the door upon its hinges 

groans. 



And they are gone ! ay, ages long ago 
These lovers fled awav into the storm. 



22C 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



That night the baron dreamt of many a woe, 
And all his '\varrior-y;uesls, with shade and 

form 
Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, 
Were long be-nightraared. Angela the old 
Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face de- 
form ; 
The beadsman, after thonsand aves told, 
For aye unsoiight-for slept among his ashes 

cold. 

John Keats. 



THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA. 

"Rise up, rise wp, Xarifa! lay the golden 

cushion down ; 
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with 

all the town ! 
From gay guitar and violin the silver notes 

arc flowing, 
And the lovely lute doth speak between the 

trumpets' lordly blowing, 
And banners bright from lattice light are 

waving every where, 
And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bride- 
groom floats proudly in the air. 
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden 

cushion down ; 
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with 

all the town ! 

" Arise, arise, Xarifti ! I see Andalla's face — 
lie bends him to the people with a calm and 

princely grace ; 
Through all the land of Xeres and banks of 

Guadalquiver 
Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so 

brave and lovely never. 
Yon tall plume waving o'er his' brow, of pur- 
ple mixed with white, 
I guess 't was wreathed by Zara, whom he 

will wed to-night. 
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden 

cushion down ; 
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with 

all the town ! 

"What aileth thee, Xarifa — what makes 

thine eyes look down ? 
Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze 

with all the town ? 



I 've heard you say on many a day, and sure 

you said the truth, 
Andalla rides without a peer among all 

Granada's youth : 
Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white 

horse doth go 
Beneath his stately master, with a stately 

step and slow : — 
Then rise — Oh ! rise, Xarifa, lay the golden 

cushion down ; 
Unseen here through the lattice, you may 

gaze with all the town ! " 

The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion 

down, 
ISTor came she to the window to gaze with all 

the town ; 
But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in 

vain lier fingers strove. 
And thougli her needle pressed the silk, no 

flower Xarifa wove ; 
One bonny rose-bud she had traced before 

the noise drew nigh — 
That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping 

from her eye — 
" No — no ! " she sighs — " bid me not rise, nor 

lay my cushion down, 
To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing 

town ! " 

" Why rise ye not, Xarifa — nor lay your 

cushion down — 
Why gaze ye not, Xarifa — with all the gazing 

town ? 
Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and 

how the people cry ; 
He stops at Zara's palace-gate — why sit ye 

still— 0, Avhy?" 
— " At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate ; in him 

shall I discover 
The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth 

with tears, and was my lover ? 
I will not rise, witli weary eyes, nor lay my 

cushion down. 
To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing 

town ! " 

Anonymous. (Spanish.) 
Translation of John Gibson Lockiiart. 



THE DAY-DREAM. 



227 



THE day-drea:m. 



TQE SLEEPING PALACE. 



The varying year with blade and sheaf 

Clothes and re-clothes the happy plains ; 
[!ere rests the sap witliiri the leaf; 

Here stays the blood along the veins. 
Faint shadows, vapors lightly curled, 

Faint murmurs from the meadows come, 
Like hints ^nd echoes of the Avorld 

To spirits folded in the Avomb. 

Soft lustre bathes the range of urns 

On every slanting terrace-lawn, 
The fountain to his place returns. 

Deep in the garden lake witlidrawn. 
Here droops the banner on the tower, 

On the hall-hearths the festal fires, 
The peacock in his laurel bower, 

The parrot in his gilded wires. 

Roof-haunting martins warm their eggs ; 

In these, in those the life is stayed. 
The mantles from the golden pegs 

Droop sleepily. No sound is made — 
Xot even of a gnat that sings. 

^lore like a picture seemeth all, 
Than those old portraits of old kings 

That watch the sleepers from the wall. 

Here sits the butler with a flask 

Between his knees, half-drained ; and there 
The wrinkled steward at his task ; 

The maidiof-honor blooming fair, 
The pai'^e Iras caught her hand in his ; 

Her lips are severed as to speak ; 
His own are pouted to a kiss ; 

The blush is fixed upon her cheek. 

Till all the hundred summers pass. 

The beams, that through the oriel shine, 
Make prisms in every carven glass, 

And beaker brimmed with noble wine. 
Each baron at the banquet sleeps ; 

Grave faces gathered in a ring, 
riis state the king reposing keeps : 

He must have been a jolly king. 

All round a hedge upshoots, and shows 

At distance like a little wood ; 
Thorns, ivies, woodbine, mistletoes, 

And grapes with bunches red as blood: 



All creeping plants, a wall of green 

Close-matted, burr and brake and briar, 

And glimpsing over these, just seen. 
High up, the topmost palace-spire. 

When will the hundred summers die, 

And thought and time be born again, 
And newer knowledge, drawing nigh. 

Bring truth that sways the soul of men i 
Here all things in their place remain, 

As all were ordered, ages since.- 
Come care and pleasure, hope and pain. 

And bring the fated fairy j)riuce ! 

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 

Year after year unto her feet. 

She lying on her couch alone. 
Across the purple coverlet, 

The maiden's jet-black hair has grown ; 
On either side her tranced form 

Forth streaming from a braid of pearl ; 
The slumb'rous light is rich and warm. 

And moves not on the rounded curl. 

The silk star-broidered coverlid 

Unto her limbs itself doth mould, 
Languidly ever ; and, amid 

Her full black ringlets, downward rolled, 
Glows forth each softly-shadowed arm, 

"With bracelets of the diamond bright. 
Her constant beauty doth inform 

Stillness with love, and day with light. 

She sleeps ; her breathings are not heard 

In palace chambers far apart. 
The fragrant tresses are not stirred 

That lie upon her charmed heart. 
She sleeps ; on either hand upswells 

The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest ; 
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells 

A perfect form in perfect rest. 

THE aeiuval. 

All precious things, discovered late, 

To those that seek them issue forth ; 
For love in sequel works with fate. 

And draws the veil from hidden worth, 
He travels far from other skies — 

His mantle glitters on the rocks — 
A fairy prince, with joyful eyes, 

And lighter-footed than the fox. 



228 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



The bodies and the bones of those 

That strove in other days to pass, 
Are withered in the tliorny close, 

Or scattered blanching in the grass. 
He gazes on the silent dead : 

"They perished in their daring deeds." 
This proverb flashes through his head : 

" The many fail ; the one succeeds." 

He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks. 

He breaks the hedge ; he enters there ; 
The color flies into his cheeks ; 

He trusts to light on something fair ; 
For all his life the charm did talk 

About his path, and hover near 
With words of promise in his walk, 

And whispered voices in his ear. 

More close and close his footsteps wind ; 

The magic music in his heart 
Beats quick and quicker, till he find 

The quiet chamber far apart. 
His spirit flutters like a lark, 

He stoops — to kiss her — on his knee : 
"Love, if thy tresses be so dark. 

How dark those hidden eyes must be ! " 

THE EEYIVAL. 

A Toucir, a kiss ! the charm was snapt. 

There rose a noise of striking clocks ; 
And feet that ran, and doors that clapt, 

And bai-king dogs, and crowing cocks ; 
A fuller light illumined all ; 

A breeze through all the garden swept ; 
A sudden hubbub shook the hall ; 

And sixty feet the fountain leapt. 

The hedge broke in, the banner blew. 

The butler drank, the steward scrawled, 
The fire shot up, the martin flew, 

The parrot screamed, the peacock squalled; 
The maid and page renewed their strife ; 

The palace banged, and buzzed and clackt; 
And all the long-pent stream of life 

Dashed downward in a cataract. 

And last of all the king awoke. 
And in his chair himself upreared. 

And yawned, and rubbed his face, and spoke; 
"By holy rood, a royal beard ! 



How say you ? we have slept, my lords - 
My beard has grown into my lap." 

The barons swore, with many words, 
'Twas but an after-dinner's nap. 

"Pardy!" returned the king, "but still 

My joints are something stiff or so. 
My lord, and shall we pass the bill 

I mentioned half an hour ago ? " 
The chancellor, sedate and A'ain, 

In courteous words returned reply ; 
But dallied with his golden chain, 

And, smiling, put the question by. 

THE DEPAETUEE. 

AxD on her lover's arm she leant, .^^ V 

And round her waist she felt it fold ; 
And far across the hills they went 

In that new world Avhich is the old. 
Across the hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
And deep into the dying day, 

The happy princess followed him. 

" I 'd sleep another hundred years, 

love, for such another kiss ! " 
" Oh wake for ever, love," she hears, 

"0 love, 'twas such as this and this." 
And o'er them many a sliding star, 

And many a merry wind was borne, 
And, streamed through many a golden bar, 

The twilight melted into morn. 

"O eyes long laid in happy sleepj^" A 

" happy sleep, that lightly fled ! " 
" happy kiss, that woke thy sleep ! " 

"0 love, thy kiss would wake the dead!" 
And o'er them many a flowing range 

Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark ; 
And, rapt through many a rosy change, 

The twilight died into the dark. 

"A hundred summers ! can it be? 

And whither goest thou, tell me where ! " 
" Oh seek my father's court with me, 

For there are greater wonders there." 
And o'er the hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim. 
Beyond the night, across the day, 

Through all the world she followed him. 
Alfeed Tennyson 



J 



LOVE. 



229 



LOVE. 

JiiAj thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Wliatevcr stirs this mortal frame. 
All are but ministers of love. 
And feed his sacred flame. 

Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Live o'er again that happy hour, 
When midway on the mount I lay, 
Beside the ruined tower. 

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene, 
Had, blended with the lights of eve ; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
My own dear Genevieve! 

She leaned against the armed man. 
The statue of the armed knight ; 
She stood and listened to my lay, 
Amid the lingering light. 

Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! 
She loves me best whene'er I sing 
The songs that make her grieve. 

I played a soft and doleful air ; 
I sang an old and moving story — 
An old, rude song, that suited weU 
That ruin wild and hoary. 

She listened with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes and modest grace; 
For well she knew I could not choose 
But gaze upon her face. 

I told her of the knight that Avore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And that for ten long years he wooed 
The lady of the laud. 

I told her how he pined — and ah ! 
Tlie deep, the low, the pleading tone 
With which I sang another's love. 
Interpreted my own. 

She listened with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes and modeslrfi-ace ; 
And she forgave me that I gazed 
Too fondly on her face ! 

But when I told the cruel scom 

That crazed that bold and lovely knight, 



And that he crossed the mountain-woods, 
Nor rested day nor night ; 

That sometimes from the savage den. 
And sometimes from tiie darksome shade. 
And sometimes starting up at once 
In green and sunny glade, — 

Tliere came and looked him in the face 
An angel beautiful and bright; 
And that he knew it was a flend, 
This miserable knight I 

And that, unknowing what he did. 
He leaped amid a murderous band, 
And saved from outrage worse than death, 
The lady of the land ; 

And how she wept and clasped his knees ; 
And how she tended him in vain — 
And ever strove to expiate 

The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 

And that she nursed him in a cave ; 
And how his madness went away, 
When on the yellow forest-leaves 
A dying man he lay ; — 

His dying words — but when I reached 
That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
My taltering voice and pausing harp 
Disturbed her soul with pity ! 

All impulses of soul and sense 
Had tlu'illed my guileless Gene\ieve ; 
The music and the doleful tale. 
The rich and balmy eve ; 

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
An undistinguishable throng, 
And gentle wishes long subdued, 
Subdued and cherished long ! 

She wept with pity and delight — 
She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; 
And like the murmur of a dream, 
I heard her breathe my name. 

Her bosom heaved ; she stepped aside — 
As conscious of my look she stept — 
Then suddenly, with timorous eye. 
She fled to me and wept. 

She half inclosed me with her arms ; 
She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 



230 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Aucl bending back her head, looked up, 
And gazed ixpon my face. 

'T was partly love, and partly fear, 
And partly 't was a bashfid art, 
That I miglit rather feel, than see. 
The swelhug of her heart. 

I calmed her fears, and she Avas calm, 
And told her love with virgin pride ; 
And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous bride. 
V**. Samuel Taylor Coleeidge. 



ZAEA'S EAR-EmGS. 

My eai'-rings ! my ear-rings ! they Ve dropped 

into the well. 
And what to say to Muga, I cannot, cannot 

tell— 
'T was thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke 

Albuharez' daughter : — 
The well is deep — far down they lie, beneath 

the cold blue water ; 
To rae did Muga give them, when 1 'e spake 

his sad farewell, 
And what to say when he comes bajk, alas ! 

I cannot tell. 

My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! — they were 

pearls in silver set. 
That, when my Moor was far away, I ne'er 

should him forget ; 
That I ne'er to otlier tongues should list, nor 

smile on other's tale. 
But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as 

those ear-rings pale. 
When he comes back, and hears that I have 

dropped them in the well. 
Oh ! Avhat will Muga think of me ? — I cannot, 

cannot tell! 

My ear-rings! my ear-rings! — he'll say they 
should have been, 

Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and 
glittering sheen. 

Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shin- 
ing clear. 

Changing to the changing light, with radiance 
insincere ; 



That changeful mind unchanging gems aro 

not befitting well. 
Thus will he think — and what to say, alas ! 

I cannot tell. 

He '11 think, when I to market went I loitered 

by the way ; 
He '11 think a willing ear I lent to all the ladr 

might say ; 
He '11 think some other lover's hand, among 

my tresses noosed. 
From the ears where he had placed them my 

rings of pearl unloosed ; 
He "11 think when I was sporting so besidf 

his marble well 
My pearls fell in — and what to say, alas ! ] 

cannot tell. 

He '11 say, I am a woman, and we are all the 

same ; 
He '11 say, I loved, when he was here to 

whisper of his flame — 
But when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth 

had broken, 
Andt thought no more of Muga, and cared not 

1^- -for his token. 
My ear-rings 1 my ear-rings : oh ! luckless, 

luckless well, — 
For what to say to Muga— alas ! I cannot tell. 

I '11 tell the truth to Muga — and I hope he 
win believe — 

That I thought of him at morning and thouglit 
of him at eve ; 

That, musing on my lover, when down the 
sun was gone, 

His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the foun- 
tain all alone ; 

And that my mind was o'er the sea, when 
from my hand they fell. 

And that deep his love lies in my heart, as 
they lie in the well. 

Anontmoits. (Spanish.) 
Translation of John Gibson Lockhabt. 



SEREANA. 

I ke'er on the border 
Saw girl fair as Eosa, 

The, charming milk-maiden 
Of sweet Finojosa. 



THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. 



231 



Oace making a journey 

To Santa Maria 
Of Calatavcuo, 

From ■weary desire 
Of sleep, clown a valley 

I strayed, where young Eosa 
I saw, tlie milk-maiden 

Of lone Finojosa. 

In a pleasant green meadow, 

'Midst roses and grasses, 
Her herd she was tending, 

With other fair lasses ; 
So 16vely her aspect, 

I could not suppose her 
A simple milk-maiden 

Of rude Finojosa. 

I think not primroses 

Have half her smile's sweetness, 
Or mild, modest beauty ; 

I speak with discreetness. 
Oh, had I beforehand 

But known of this Rosa, 
The lovely milk-maiden 

Of fair Finojosa ! 

Her very great beauty 

Had not so subdued, 
Because it had left me. 

To do as I would. 
I have said more, fair one, 

By learning 't was Rosa, 
The charming milk-maiden 

Of sweet Finojosa. 

Lope de Mendoza. (Spanish.) 
Translation of J. II. Wiffex. 



THE SPIiSTNING-WHEEL SOXG. 

Mellow tlie moonlight to shine is beginning ; 

Close by the window young Eileen is spin- 
ning; 

Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sit- 
ting, 

Is croaning, and moaning, and drowsily knit- 
ting— 

"Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." 

" 'T is the iv}', dear mother, against tlie glass 
flapping." 

" Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." 



" 'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer 

wind dying." 
Merrily, cheerily, noisOy whirring, 
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the 

foot's stirring; 
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing. 
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden 

singing. 



" What 's that noise that I hear at the window, 

I wonder ? " 
" 'T is the little birds chirping the holly-bush 

under." 
" What makes you be shoving and moving 

your stool on, 
And singing all wrong that old song of ' The 

Coolun?'" 
There's a form at the casement — the form of 

her true-love — 
And he whispers, with face bent, "I'm wait- 
ing for you, love ; 
Get up on the stool, through the lattice step 

lightly, 
We'll rove in the grove while the moon's 

shining brightly." 
Merrily, cheerily, noisily whiri-ing. 
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the 

foot 's stu-ring ; 
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, 
Thi-ills the sweet voice of the young maiden 

sinking. 



The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays 

her fingers, 
Steals up from her seat — longs to go, and yet 

lingers ; 
A fi'ightened glance tui'ns to her drowsy 

grandmother. 
Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel 

with the other. 
Lazily, easily, swings now the Avheel round ; 
Slowly and lowly is heard now the i-eel's 

sound ; 
iSToiseless and light to the lattice above her 
The maid steps — then leaps to the arms of 

her lover. 
Slower — and slower — and slower the wheel 

SAvings ; 
Lower — and lower — and lower the reel rings ; 



232 



POEMS OF LOVE-.> 



Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing 
and moving, 

Through the grove the young lovers by moon- 
light are roving. 

JonK Fkancis Wallek. 



WxVTCH SONG. 

The sun is gone do^-n, 

And the moon upward springeth ; 
The night creepeth onward ; 

The niglitingale singeth. 
To himself said a watchman, 

"Is any knight waiting 
In pain for his lady. 

To give her his greeting? 

Now, then, for their meeting ! " 

His words heard a knight, 
In the garden while roaming : 

" Ah, watchman ! " he said, 
" Is the daylight fast coming? 

And may I not see her, 

And wilt not thou aid me? " 

" Go, wait in thy covert, 
Lest the cock crow reveille, 
And the dawn should betray thee." 

Then in went that watchman. 

And called for the fair ; 
And gently he roused her: 

"Kise, lady! prepare! 
New tidings I bring thee. 

And strange to thine ear ; 
Come, rouse thee up quickly — 

Thy knight tarries near ; 

Else, lady ! appear ! " 

*' Ah, watchman ! though purely 

The moon shines above. 
Yet trust not securely 

That feigned tale of love. 
Far, far from my presence 

My own knight is straying ; 
And, sadly repining, 

I mourn his long staying, 

And weep his delaying." 

" Nay, lady ! yet trust me. 

No falsehood is there." 
Then up sprang that lady 

And braided her hair, 



And donned her white garment. 

Her purest of white ; 
And her heart with joy trembling, 
She rushed to the sight 
Of her own faithful knight. 

Anonymous. (German.) 
Translation of Edgar Tatlok. 



THE OLD STORY. 

He came across the meadow-pass, 

That summer eve of eves — 
The sunhght streamed along thtj grass 

And glanced amid the leaves; 
And from the shrubbery below, 

And fi'om the garden trees. 
He heard the thrushes' music flow 

And humming of the bees ; 
The garden gate was swung apart — 

The space was brief between ; 
But there, for throbbing of his heai't, 

He paused perforce to lean. 

He leaned upon the garden-gate ; 

He looked, and scarce he breathed ; 
Within the little porch she sate. 

With woodbine overwreathed ; 
Her eyes upon her work were bent, 

Unconscious who was nigh: 
But oft the needle slowly went. 

And oft did idle lie : 
And ever to her lips arose 

Sweet fragments sweetly sung. 
But ever, ere the notes could close, 

She hushed them on her tongue. 

Her fancies as they come and go. 

Her pure face speaks the while ; 
For now it is a flitting glow. 

And now a breaking smile ; 
And now it is a graver shade, 

When holier thoughts are there— 
An angel's pinion might be stayed 

To see a sight so fair ; 
But still they hid her looks of hght. 

Those downcast eyehds pale — 
Two lovely clouds, so silken white, 

Two lovelier stars that veil. 

The sun at length his burning edge 

Had rested on the hill, 
And, save one thrush from out the hedge, 

Both bower and grove were still. 



JOCK OF HAZELDEAN, 



233 



The sun had almost bade farewell ; 

But one reluctant ray 
Still loved within that porch to dwell, 

As charmed there to stay — 
It stole aslant the pear-tree bough, 

And through the woodbine fringe. 
And kissed the maiden's neck and brow, 

And bathed her in its tinge. 

" O beauty of luy heart ! " lie said, 

" darling, darling mine ! 
Was ever light of evening shed 

On loveliness like thine ? 
Why should I ever leave this spot, 

But gaze until I die ? " 
A moment from that bursting thought 

She felt his footstep nigh, 
One sudden, lifted glance — but one — 

A tremor and a start — 
So gently was their greeting done 

That who would guess their heart ? 

Long, long the sun had sunken down, 

And all his golden hail 
Had died away to lines of brown, 

In duskier hues that fail. 
The grasshopper was chirping shrill— 

No other living sound 
Accompanied the tiny riU 

That gurgled under ground — 
No other living sound, unless 

Some spirit bent to hear 
Low words of human tenderness 

And mingling whispers near. 

The stars, like pallid gems at first. 

Deep in the liquid sky, 
Now forth upon the darkness burst. 

Sole kings and lights on high ; 
For splendor, myriad-fold, supreme. 

No rival moonlight strove; 
Nor lovelier e'er was Hesper's beam. 

Nor more majestic Jove. 
But what if hearts there beat that night 

That recked not of the skies. 
Or only felt their imaged light 

In one another's eyes ? 

And if two worlds of hidden thought 

And longing passion met. 
Which, passing human language, sought 

And found an utterance yet ; 
34 



And if they trembled as the flowers 

That droop across the stream. 
And muse the while the starry hours 

Wait o'er them like a dream ; 
And if, when came the parting time, 

They faltered still and clung ; 
What is it all ? — an ancient rhyme 

Ten thousand times besung— 
That part of Paradise which man 

Without the portal knows, — 
Which hath been since the world began, 

And shall be till its close. 

Anontmous. 



JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 

" Wnr weep ye by the tide, ladye— 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
I '11 wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye shall be his bride ; 
And ye shall be his bride, ladye 

Sao comely to be seen." — 
But ay she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

" Now let this wilful grief be done. 

And dry that cheek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Erringtou, 

And lord of Langley dale : 
Hie step is first in peacefid ha'. 

His sword in battle keen." — 
But ay she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

" A chain of gold ye shall not lack, 

Nor braid to bind your hair. 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair; 
And you the foremost of them a' 

Shall ride, our forest queen." — 
But ay she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

The kirk was decked at morning tide ; 

The tapers glimmered fair ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride. 

And knight and dame are there ; 
They sought her both by bower and ha' ; 

The ladj^c was not seen. — 
She 's o'er the border, and awa' 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 

Sir Walter Sccitt. 



28-! 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



LOOIIINVAR. 

On, young Locliinvar is come out of the 
west ; 

Tlji-Dugh all the wide border his steed was 
the best ; 

Ajjd save his good broad-sword he weapons 
had none ; 

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 

There never was knight like the young Loch- 
invar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not 

for stone ; 
He swam the Eske river where ford there 

was none ; 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
The bride had consented, the gallant came 

late : 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochin- 

var. 

'^o boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 

'Moug bridesmen, and kinsmen, and broth- 
ers, and all ; 

Tlien spoke the bride's father, his hand on 
his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never 
a word,) 

" Oh come ye in peace here, or come ye in 
war. 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochin- 
var?" 

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you 

denied — 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its 

tide — 
And now I an: come, Avith this lost love of 

mine. 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of 

wine ; 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely 

by far. 
That would gladly be bride to the young 

Lochinvar." 



The bride kissed the goblet — the knight took 

it up ; 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down 

the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up 

to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in hei 

eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could 

bar, — 
"Now tread we a measure!" said young 

Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret and her father did 
fume. 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bon- 
net and plume ; 

And the bride-maidens whispered," 'T were 
better by far 

To have matched our fair cousin with young 
Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her 

ear. 
When they reached the hall door and the 

charger stood near ; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, 

and scaur ; 
They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth 

young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Grtemes of the 

Netherby clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode 

and they ran : 
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie 

Lee, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they 

see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Plave ye e'er heard of gallant like young 

Lochinvar ? 

SiE Walter Soott. 



LOVE IN THE VALLEY. 



235 



LOVE m THE VALLEY. 

Undek yonder beecli-trce standing on the 
g:-een sward, 

Couched with her arms behind her little head, 

Her knees folded up, and her tresses on her 
bosom, 

Lies my young love sleeping in the shade. 

Had I the heart to slide one arm beneath her! 

Press her dreaming lips as her waist I folded 
slow, 

Waking on the instant she could not but em- 
brace me — 

Ah ! would she hold ixie, and never let me go ? 

Shy as the squirrel, and wayward as the 
swallow ; 

Swift as the swallow wheD,athwart the west- 
ern flood, 

Circleting the surface, he meets his mirrored 
winglets — 

Is that dear one in her maiden bud. 

Shy as the squirrel whose nest is in the pine 
tops; 

Gentle — ah! that she were jealous — as the 
dove ! 

Full of all the wildness of the woodland crea- 
tures, 

Happy in herself is the maiden that I love ! 

What can have taught her distrust of all I tell 
her ? 

Can she truly doubt me when looking on my 
brows ? 

Nature never teaches distrust of tender love- 
tales — 

What can have taught her distrust of all my 
vows ? 

No, she does not doubt me ! on a dewy eve- 
tide, 

Whispering together beneath the listening 
moon, 

I prayed till her cheek flushed, implored till 
she faltered — 

Fluttered to my bosom — ah ! to fly away so 
soon ! 

When her mother tends her before the laugh- 
ing mirror, 
Tying up her laces, looping up her hair, 



Often she thinks — were this wild thing 
wedded, 

I should have more love, and much less care. 

When her mother tends her before the bash- 
ful mirror. 

Loosening her laces, combing down her curls, 

Often she thinks — were this wild thing 
wedded, 

I should lose but one for so many boys and 
girls. 

Clambering roses peep into her chamber ; 

Jasmine and woodbine breathe sweet, sweet; 

White-necked swallows, twittering of sum- 
mer. 

Fill her with balm and nested peace from 
head to feet. 

Ah ! will the rose-bough see her lying lonely, 

When the petals fall and fierce bloom is on 
the leaves ? 

Will the autumn garners see her still un- 
gathered. 

When the fickle swallows forsake the weep- 
ing eaves ? 

Comes a sudden question — should a strange 

hand pluck her ! 
Oh ! what an anguish smites me at the tliought ! 
Should some idle lordling bribe her mind with 

jewels ! — 
Can such beauty ever thus be bought ? 
Sometirojes the huntsmen, prancing down the 

valley, 
Eye the village lasses, full of sprightly mirth ; 
They see, as I see, mine is the fairest ! 
Would she were older and could read my 

worth ! 

Are there not sweet maidens, if she still deny 

me? 
Show the bridal heavens but one bright star ? 
Wherefore thus then do I chase a shadow. 
Clattering one note like a brown eve- jar ? 
So I rhyme and reason till she darts before 

me — 
Through the milky meadows from flower to 

flower she flies. 
Sunning her sweet palms to shade her dazzled 

eyelids 
From the golden love that looks too eager in 

her eyes. 



236 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



When at dawn she wakens, and her fair face 

gazes 
Out on the weather through the window 

panes, 
Beauteous she loolvs ! like a white water-lily 
Bursting out of bud on the rippled river 

plains. 
When from bed she rises, clothed from neck 

to ankle 
In her long night gown, sweet as boughs of 

May, 
Beauteous she looks ! like a tall garden lily, 
Pure from the night and perfect for the day ! 

Happy, happy time, when the gray star twin- 
kles 

Over the fields all fresh with bloomy dew : 

When the cold-cheeked dawn grows ruddy 
up the twilight. 

And the gold sun wakes and weds her in tlie 
blue. 

Then when my darling tempts the early 
breezes, 

Slie the only star that dies not with the dark ! 

Powerless to speak all the ardor of my pas- 
sion, 

I catch her little hand as we listen to the 
lark. 

Shall the birds in vain then valentine their 

sweethearts ? 
Season after season tell a fruitless tale? 
Will not the virgin listen to their voices ? 
Take the honeyed meaning, wear the bridal 

veil? 
Feara she frosts of winter, fears she the bare 

branches ? 
Waits she the garlands of spring for her 

dower ? 
Is she a nightingale that will not be nested 
Till the April woodland has built her bridal 

bower? 

Then come, merry April, with all thy birds 
and beauties ! 

With thy crescent brows and thy flowery, 
showery glee ; 

With thy budding leafage and fresh green 
pastures ; 

And may thy lustrous crescent grow a hon- 
eymoon for me ! 



Come, merry month of the cuckoo and tlie 

violet ! 
Come, weeping loveliness in all thy blue 

delight ! 
Lo! the nest is ready, let me not languish 

longer ! 
Bring her to my arms on the first May night. 

GeOKGE MEEEDmi. 



LADY CLARE. 

Lord Eonald courted Lady Clare, 
I trow they did not part in scorn ; 

Lord Ronald, her cousin, courted her. 
And they will wed tlie morrow morn. 

" He does not love me for my birth, 
Nor for my lands so broad and fair ; 

He loves me for my own true worth, 
And that is well," said Lady Clare. 

In there came old Alice the nurse. 

Said, "Who was this that went from thee? '' 

"It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, 
" To-morrow he weds with me." 

" Oh God be thanked ! " said Alice the nurse, 
" That all comes round so just and fair : 

Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands. 
And you are not the Lady Clare." 

■'Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my 
nurse ? " 

Said Lady Clare, " that ye speak so wild ? " 
"As God's above," said Alice the nurse, 

" 1 speak the truth : you are my child. 

"The old earl's daughter died at my breast; 

I speak the truth as I live by bread ! 
I buried her like my own sweet child, 

And put my child in her stead." 

"Falsely, falsely have ye done, 
O mother," she said, "if this be true. 

To keep the best man under the sun 
So many years from his due." 

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurso, 
" But keep the secret for your life. 

And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, 
When you are man and wife." 



THE LETTERS. 



237 



" If 1 'm a beggar born," sbe said, 
" I will speak out, for I dare not lie. 

Pull oif, piUl otf the broocli of gold. 
And fling the diamond necklace by." 

" jSTay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
" But keep the secret all ye can." 

She said, "Xot so ; but I will know 
Tf there be any faith in man." 

" ls"ay now, what faith ? " said Alice the nurse, 
" The man will cleave unto his right." 

*' And he shall have it," the lady replied, 
"Though I should die to-night." 

" Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ! 

Alas, my child, I sinned for thee." 
" mother, mother, mother ! " she said, 

"So strange it seems to me. 

" Yet here 's a kiss for my mother dear, 

My mother dear, if this. be so; 
And lay your hand upon my head. 

And bless me mother, ere I go." 

She clad herself in russet gown, 

She was no longer Lady Clare ; 
She went by dale, and she went by down, 

With a single rose in her hair. 

A lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought 

Leapt up from where she lay, 
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, 

And followed her all the way. 

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower : 
" Lady Clai-e, you shame your worth ! 

"Why come you drest like a -pillage maid, 
Tiiat are the flower of the earth ? " 

" If I come drest like a village maid, 

I am but as my fortunes are : 
I am a beggar born," she said, 

" And not the lady Clare." 

" Plfty me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
" For I am yours in word and deed ; 

Play me nq tricks," said Lord" Ronald, 
" Your riddle is hard to read." 



Oh and proudly stood she up ! 

Her heart within her did not fail ; 
She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes, 

And told him fill her nurse's tale. 

lie laughed a laugh of merry scorn ; 

He turned and kissed her where she stood ; 
" If you are not the heiress born. 

And I," said he, " the next in blood— 

" If you are not the heiress born. 
And I," said he, " the lawful heir, 

We two will wed to-morrow morn. 
And you shall still be Lady Clare." 

Alfbed Tennyson. 



THE LETTERS. 



Still on the tower stood the vane ; 

A black yew gloomed the stagnant air ; 
I peered athwart the chancel pane 

And saw the altar cold and bare, 
A clog of lead was round my feet, 

A band of pain across my brow ; 
" Cold altar, heaven and earth shall meet 

Before you hear my marriage vow." 



I turned and hummed a bitter song 

That mocked the wholesome human heart ; 
And then we met in wrath and wrong, 

We met, but only meant to part. 
Full cold my greeting was and dry ; 

She faintly smiled, she hardly moved ; 
I saw, with half-unconscious eye. 

She wore the colors I approved. 



She took the little ivory chest- 

With half a sigh she turned the key ; 
Then raised her head with lips comprest, 

And gave my letters back to me. 
And gave the trinkets and the rings. 

My gifts, when gifts of mine could please ; 
As looks a father on the things 

Of his dead son, I looked on these. 



233 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



She told mc all her friends had said ; 

I raged against the public liar. 
She talked as if her love -were dead; 

But in my words were seeds of fire. 
"ISTo more of love*; yom- sex is Icnown: 

I never will be twice deceived. 
Henceforth I trust the man alone — 

The woman cannot be believed. 



" Through slander, meanest spawn of hell 

(And woman's slander is the worst), 
And you, whom once I loved so well — 

Through you my life will be accurst." 
I spoke with heart, and heat and force, 

I shook her breast with vague alarms — 
Like torrents from a mountain source 

"We rushed into each other's arms. 



We parted. Sweetly gleamed the stars. 

And sweet the vapor-braided blue ; 
Low breezes fanned the belfry bars, 

As homeward by the church I drew. 
The very graves appeared to smile, 

So fresh they rose in shadowed swells ; 
" Dark porch," I said, " and silent aisle. 

There comes a sound of marriage bells." 
Alfred Tenntbon. 



SONNETS. 

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, 
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ; 
The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
So thou be good, slander doth but approve 
Thy worth the greater, being wooed of time ; 
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love. 
And tiiou present'st a pure unstained prime. 
Thou hast passed by the ambush of young 

days, 
Either not assailed, or victor being charged ; 
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise. 
To tie up envy, evermore enlarged. 
If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, 
Then, thou alone kingdoms of hearts 
shouldst owe. 



So are you to my thoughts, as food to life. 
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the 

ground ; 
And for the peace of you I hold such strife 
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found; 
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon 
Doubting the filching age will steal his treas- 
ure ; 
Now counting best to be with you alone. 
Then bettered that the world may see my 

pleasure ; 
Sometime aU full with feasting on your sight, 
And by and by clean starved for a look ; 
Possessing or pursuing no delight, 
Save what is had or must from you be took. 
Thus do I pine and sufli'er day by day ; 
Or gluttoning on all, or all away. 



Faeewell! thou art too dear for my possess- 
in"" 

And like enough thou know'st thy estimate ; 

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; 

My bonds in thee are all determinate. 

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ? 

And for that riches where is my deserving? 

The cause of this foir gift in me is wanting, 

And so my patent back again is swerving. 

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not 
knowing, 

Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 

Comes home again, on better judgment mak- 
ing. 
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth 
flatter 

In sleep a king ; but waking no such matter. 



Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; 
Some say thy grace is youth, and gentle sport ; 
Both grace and faults are loved of more and 

less ; 
Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. 
As on the finger of a throned queen 
The basest jewel will be well esteemed, 
So are those errors tliat iii thee are seen, 
To truths translated, and for true thmgg 

deemed. 



SONNETS. 



239 



How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
11' like a Iamb he could his looks translate! 
How many gazers might'st tliou lead away, 
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy 
state ! 
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort 
As tliou being mine, mine is thy good re- 
port. 



How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting yeai' ! 
"What freezings have I felt, what dark days 

seen, 
What old December's bareness everywhere ! 
And yet this time removed was summer's 

time; 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase. 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, 
Like widowed wombs after their lords' de- 
cease ; 
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me 
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit ; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee. 
And, thou away, the very bii-ds are mute ; 
Or, if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer, 
That leaves look pale, di-eading the Avin- 
ter 's near. 



From you have I been absent in the spring. 
When proud-pied A[>ril di'essed in aU his 

trim, 
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, 
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with 

him. 
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
Of diflx'rent flowers in odor and in hue. 
Could make me any summer's story tell, 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where 

they grew ; 
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, 
Nor praise the deep vermihon in the rose; 
They are but sweet, but figures of dehght. 
Drawn after you — you pattern of all those. 
Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away. 
As with your shadow I with these did play. 



The forward violet thus did I chide : — 
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy 

sweet that smells, 
If not from my love's breath? the purple 

pride 
Whicli on thy soft cheek for complexion 

dwells. 
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. 
The lily I condemned for thy hand. 
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair; 
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, 
One blushing shame, another white despair ; 
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, 
And to this robbery had annexed thy breath ; 
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
But sweet in color it had stolen from thee. 



When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights. 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme. 
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; 
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have expressed 
Even such a beauty as you master now. 
So all their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring ; 
And for they looked but wjth divining eyes, 
They had not skill enough your worth to sing ; 

For we, Avhich now behold these present 
days. 

Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to 
praise. 



Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to 

come. 
Can yet the lease of my true love control. 
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. 
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, 
And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; 
Incertainties now crown themselves assured. 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
Now, with the drops of this most balmy time 



240 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



My love looks fresh, and death to me sub- 
scribes, 
Since, spite of bim, I '11 live in this poor rhyme. 
While he insults o'er dull and speechless 
tribes : 
And thou in this shalt find thy monument, 
When tyrants' crests, and tombs of brass 
are spent. 



Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments ; love is not love. 
Which alters when it alteration finds, 
Or bends with the remover to remove. 
Oh no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
It is the star to every wandering bark. 
Whose worth 's unknown, although his height 

be taken. 
Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and 

cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and 

weeks 
But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
If this be error, and ui:>on me proved, 
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 



On ! never say that I was false of heart. 
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify. 
As easy might I from myself depart, 
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth 

lie. 
That is my home of love ; if I have ranged, 
Like him that travels, I return again — 
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged ; 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, though in my nature reigned 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood. 
That it could so preposterously be stained, 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
For nothing this wide universe I call. 
Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 

SnAKESPEAEE. 



SONNETS. 

Come sleep, O sleep ! the certain knot of 
peace. 

The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe; 

The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's re- 
lease, 

The indifierent judge between the high and 
low! 

With shield of proof, shield me from out the 
prease 

Of those fierce darts despair doth at me 
throw. 

Oh make in me those civil wars to cease ; 

I will good tribute pay if thou do so. 

Take thon of me smooth pillows, sweetest 
bed, 

A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, 

A rosy garland and a weary head ; 

And if these things, as being thine by right, 

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me. 

Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 



In martial sports I had my cunning tried, 
And yet to break more staves did me ad- 
dress; 
While with the people's shouts I must confess, 
Youth, luck, and praise e'en filled my veins 

with pride ; 
When Cupid having me, his slave, descried 
In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, 
"What now. Sir Fool? "said he, "I would 

no less ; 
Look here I say." — I looked and Stella spied. 
Who, hard by, made a window send forth 

fight; 
My heart then quaked; then dazzled were 

mine eyes ; 
One hand forgot to rule, the other to fight; 
Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly 

cries. 
My foe came on and beat the air for me, 
Till that her blush taught me my shame to 

see. 



SONNETS. 



241 



HAPPT Thames that didst my Stella bear ; 

1 saw myself with many a smiling line 
Upon thy cheerful face, joy's livery wear, 
While those fair planets on thy streams did 

shine ; 
The boat for joy could not to dance forbear; 
While wanton winds, with beauties so divine 
Ravished, staid not till in her golden hair 
They did themselves, oh sweetest prison! 

twine ; 
And fain those Eol's youth there would their 

stay 
Have made, but forced by nature still to fly. 
First did with puffing kiss those locks display. 
She so dishevelled, blushed : — from window I, 
With sight thereof, cried out, oh fair disgrace ! 
Let honor's self to thee grant highest place. 



With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb'st 

the skies — 
How silently, and with how Avan a face ! 
What ! may it be, that even in heavenly 

place^ 
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? 
Sure, if that long-witli-love-acquainted eyes 
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case ; 
I read it in thy looks, thy languished grace ; 
To me that feel the like thy state descries. 
Then even of fellowship, Moon, tell me — 
Is constant love deemed there but want of 

wit? 
Are beauties there as proud as hei-e they be ? 
Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth 

possess ? 
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness ? 

Sir Philip Sidney. 



SONNET. 

I Kxow that all beneath the moon decays; 
And what by mortals in this world is brought. 
In time's great periods shall return to nought ; 
That fairest states have fatal nights and days. 
I know that all the muses' heavenly lays, 
With toil of sprite which are so dearly bought, 
35 



As idle sounds, of few or none are sought; 
That there is nothing lighter than vain praise. 
I know frail beauty 's like the purple flower 
To which one morn oft birth and death af- 
fords. 
That love a jarring is of mind's accords, 
Where sense and Avill bring under reasotfa 

power : 
Know what I list, this all cannot me move. 
But that, alas ! I both must write and love. 

"William Detimiiond. 

\ ^ 



SONNET. 

If it be true that any beauteous thing 

Raises the pure and just desire of man 

From earth to God, the eternal fount of all. 

Such I believe my love ; for as in her 

So fair, in whom I aU besides forget, 

I Tiew the gentle work of her creator, 

I have no care for any other thing. 

Whilst thus I love. Nor is it marvellous, 

Since the effect is not of my own power. 

If the soul doth, by nature tempted forth. 

Enamored through the eyes. 

Repose upon the eyes which it resembleth. 

And through them riseth to the Primal Love, 

As to its end, and honors in admiring ; 

For who adores the Maker needs must love 

Ilis work. 

Michael Angelo. (Italian.) 
Translation of J. E. Taylor. 



TO yiTTORIA COLONNA. 

Yes ! hope may with my strong desire keep 

pace. 
And I be undcluded, unbetraycd ; 
For if of our affections none find grace 
In sight of heaven, then wherefore hath God 

made 
The world which we inhabit ? Better plea 
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee 
Glory to that Eternal Peace is paid. 
Who such divinity to thee imparts 



242 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



As hallows and makes pure all gentle 

hearts. 
His hope is treacheroiis only whose love dies 
"With beauty, which is varying every hour : 
But in chaste hearts, uninfluenced by the 

power 
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless 

flower, 
That breathes on earth the air of paradise. 

Michael Angelo. (Italian.) 
Translation of William Woedswokth. 



SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE. 

If thou must love me, let it be for nought 
Except for love's sake only. Do not say 
"I love her for her smile, her look, her 

way 
Of speaking gently,— for a trick of thought 
That falls in well with mine, and certes 

brought 
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day." 
For these things in themselves, beloved, may 
Be changed, or change for thee, — and love so 

wrought, 
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for 
Tliine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks 

dry,— 
A creature might forget to weep, who bore 
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. 
But love me for love's sake, that evermore 
Tliou mayst love on, through love's eternity. 



I NEVER gave a lock of hair away 
To a man dearest, except this to thee. 
Winch now upon my fingers thoughtfully 
I ring out to the fuU brown length, and say, 
" Take it ! " My day of youth went yesterday ; 
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. 
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree, 
As girls do, any more. It only may 
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of 

tears, 
Taught drooping from the head that hangs 

aside 



Through sorrow's trick. I thought the fu- 
neral shears 

Would take this first, but love is justified, — 

Take it thou, — finding pure, from all those 
years, 

The kiss my mother left there when she died. 



Say over again, and yet once over again, 
That thou dost love me. Though the word 

repeated 
Should seem "a cuckoo-song," as thou dost 

treat it. 
Remember, never to the hill or plain, 
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain. 
Comes the fresh spring in all her green com- 
pleted. 
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted 
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's 

pain 
Cry: "Speak once more — thou lovest!" 

Who can fear 
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall 

roll- 
Too many flowers, though each shall crown 

the year ? 
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me — 

toll 
The silver iterance ! — only minding, dear, 
To love me also in silence, with thy soul. 



If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange 
And be aU to me ? Shall I never miss 
Home-talk and blessing, and the common kiss 
That comes to each in turn, nor count it 

strange, 
Wlien I took up, to drop on a new range 
Of walls and floors — another home than 

this? 
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is 
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know 

change? 
That 's hardest. If to conquer love has tried. 
To conquer grief tries more, as all thing3 

prove ; 
For grief indeed is love and grief beside. 
Alas, I have grieved so, I am hard to love. 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 243 


Yet love mc — wilt thou ? Open thine heart 




wide, 
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove. 


PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 




Ix the merrie moueth of Maye, 




In a morne by break of daye. 




W' ith a troupe of damsells playing. 


First time he kissed nie, he but only kissed 


Forth I yode forsooth a-maying ; 


The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; 
And, ever since, it grew more clean and 
* white 


Where anon by a wood side. 
Where as May was in his pride, 


Slow to world-greetings, quick with its 

"Olist!" 


I espied all alone 
Phillida and Corydon. 


When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, 
Than that first kiss. The second passed in 


Much adoe there was, God wot ; 
He wold love, and she wold not. 
She sayd never man was trewe ; 


height 
The first, and sought the forehead, and half 


He sayes none was false to you. 


missed. 
Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed ! 
That was the chrism of love, which love's 


He sayde hee had lovde her longe ; 
She sayes love shoidd have no wronge. 
Corydon wold kisse her then ; 


own crown, 
With sanctifying sweetness, did pi-ecede. 


She sayes maids must kisse no men, 


The third upon my lips was folded down 


Tyll they doe for good and all. 


In perfect, purple state ; since when, indeed, 


When she made the shepperde call 


I have been proud, and said, "My love, my 


All the heavens to wytnes truthe, 


own ! " 


Never loved a truer youthe. 




Then with many. a prettie othe. 




Yea, and naye, and faith e and trothe — 


How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways : 


Such as seelie sheppf'rdes use 


I love thee to the depth, and breadth, and 


When they wiU not love abuse — 


height 
My soul can reach, when feeling, out of sight. 
For the ends of being and ideal grace. 
I love thee to the level of every day's 
Most quiet need, by sun and candlehght. 


Love, that had bene long deluded, 
Was with kisses sweete concluded ; 
And Phillida with garlands gaye 
Was made the ladye of the Maye. 


I love thee freely, as men strive for right ; 


Nicholas Bueton. 


I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. 




I love thee with the passion put to use 




In my old griefs, and with my childhood's 




faith. 


LOVE IS A SICKNESS. 


I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 




With my lost saints. I love thee with the 


Love is a sickness full of woes, 


breath, 


All remedies refusing ; 


Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God 


A plant that most with cutting grows, 


choose. 


Most barren with best using. 


I shall but love thee better after death. 


Why so ? 


Elizabeth Bakeett Browning. 


More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 




If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
Heigh-ho I 





244 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Love is a torment of the mind, 

A tempest everlasting ; 
And Jove liatli made it of a kind, 

Not well, nor full, nor fasting. 
Why so ? 
More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 

Heigh-ho ! 

Samuel Daniel. 



THE WHITE ROSE. 

SENT BY A YORKISn LOVER TO HIS LANCAS- 
TKIAN MISTRESS. 

If this fair rose offend thy sight, 
Placed in thy hosom hare, 
'T will hlush to find itself less white, 
And turn Lancastrian there. 

But if thy ruby lip it spy. 
As kiss it thou mayest deign. 
With envy pale 'twill lose its dye, 
And Yorkish turn again. 

Anontmoiis. 



And from her arched brows such a grace 
Sheds itself through the face, 
As alone there triumphs to the life. 
All the gain, all the good, of the elements' 
strife. 

Have you seen but a bright lily grow, 
Before rude hands have touched it ? 

Have you marked but the fall of the snow, 
Before the soil hath smutched it ? 

Have you felt the wool of the beaver ? 
Or swan's down ever ? 

Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier ? 
Or the nard i' the fire ? 

Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 

Oh, so white ! oh, so soft ! oh, so sweet is she ! 

Ben Jonson. 



TRIUMPH OF CHARIS. 

See the chariot at hand here of Love ! 

Wherein my lady rideth ! 
Each that draws is a swan, or a dove. 

And well the car Love guideth. 
As she goes, all hearts do duty 

Unto her beauty. 
And, enamored, do wish, so they might 

But enjoy such a sight. 
That they still were to run by her side 
Through swords, through seas, whither she 
Avould ride. 

Do but look on her eyes ! they do light 
All that Love's world compriseth ; 

Do but look on her hair ! it is bright 
As Love's star when it riseth ! 

Do but mark — her forehead 's smoother 
Than words that soothe her ! 



AN EARNEST SUIT 

TO niS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE HIi' 

And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! for shame ! 
To save thee from the blame 
Of all my grief and grame. 
And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath loved thee so long. 
In wealth and woe among ? 
And is thy heart so strong 
As for to leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath given thee my heart. 
Never for to depart. 
Neither for pain nor smart ? 
And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
And have no more pity 
Of him that loveth thee ? 
Alas ! thy cruelty ! 
And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

SiK Thomas Wtat 



SONGS. 



DISCOUESE WITH CUPID. 

jSToblest Charis, you that are 
Both ray fortune aud my star ! 
And do govern more my blood, 
Than the various moon the flood ! 
Hear what late discourse of you 
Love and I have had ; and true. 
'Mongst my muses finding me, 
Where he chanced your name to see 
Set, and to this softer strain : 
" Sure," said he, " if I have brain, 
This here sung can be no other 
By description, but my mother ! 
.So hath Homer praised her hair ; 
So Anacreon drawn the air 
Of her face, and made to rise. 
Just about her sparkling eyes. 
Both her brows, bent like my bow. 
By her looks I do her know. 
Which you call my shafts. And see ! 
Such my mother's blushes be, 
As the bath your verse discloses 
In her cheeks of milk aud roses ; 
Such as oft I wanton in. 
And above her even chin. 
Have you placed the bank of kisses 
Where, you say, men gather blisses. 
Ripened ■« ith a breath more sweet, 
Than when flowers and west winds meet. 
Nay, her white and polished neck. 
With the lace that doth it deck. 
Is my mother's ! hearts of slain 
Lovers, made into a chain ! 
And between each rising breast 
Lies the valley called my nest. 
Where I sit and proyne my wings 
After flight ; and put new strings 
To my shafts ! Her very name, 
With my mother's is the same." 
" I confess all," I replied, 
" And the glass hangs by her side. 
And the girdle 'bout her waist, 
All is Venus ; save uncliaste. 
But, alas ! thou seest the least 
Of her good," who is the best 
Of her sex ; but couldst thou, Love, 
Call to mind the forms that strove 
For the apple, and those three 
Make in one, the same were she. 



For this beauty still doth hide 
Something more than thou hast spied. 
Outward grace weak Love beguiles : 
She is Venus when she smiles, 
But she 's Juno when she walks, 
And Minerva when she talks." 

Ben Jonso>j 



TO CELIA. 

Dkink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And I 'U not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine ; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, 

ISTot so much honoring thee, 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not withered be. 
But thou thereon did'st only breathe. 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee. 

PniLOSTEATUS. (Greek.) 
Translation of Ben Jonson. 



CUPID AND CAMPASPE, 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 
At cards for kisses — Cupid paid ; 
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows. 
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows- 
Loses them too ; then down he throws 
The coral of his lip, the rose 
Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how) ; 
With these the crystal of his brow, 
And then the dimple of his chin ; 
All these did my Campaspe win. 
At last he set her both his eyes ; 
She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
Love ! lias she done this to thee ? 
What shall, alas ! become of me ? 

Jonx Ltlt. 



:-i6 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



HEAR, YE LADIES. 

Heae, ye ladies that despise 

"What the mighty Love hath done ; 

Hear examples, and be wise : 

Fair Calisto was a nun ; 

Leda sailing on the stream, 

To deceive the hopes of man, 

Love accounting but a dream, 

Doted on a silver swan ; 

Danae in a brazen tower, 

"Where no love was, loved a shower. 

Hear, ye ladies that are coy, 

"What the mighty Love can do ; 

Hear the fierceness of the boy ; 

The chaste moon he makes to woo. 

Vesta kindling holy fires, 

Circled round about with spies, 

N^ever dreaming loose desires. 

Doting at the altar dies. 

Iliou, in a short hour, higher 

He can once more build and once more 

fire. 

Bkaumont and Pletcheb. 



SHALL I TELL. 

Shall 1 tell you whom I love ? 

Hearken then a while to me ; 
And if such a woman move 

As I now shall versify. 
Be assured 't is she, or none. 
That I love, and love alone. 

Nature did her so much right 
As she scorns the help of art. 

Li as many virtues dight 

As e'er yet embraced a heart. 

So much good so truly tried. 

Some for less were deified. 

"Wit she hath, without desire 

To make known how much she hath ; 

And her anger flames no higher 
Than may fitly sweeten wrath. 

Full of pity as maj^ be, 

Though perhaps not so to me. 



Eeason masters every sense. 
And her virtues grace her birth ; 

Lovely as all excellence, 

Modest in her most of mirth. 

Likelihood enough to prove 

Only worth could kindle love. 

Such she is ; and if you know 

Such a one as I have sung ; 
Be she brown, or fair, or so 

That she be but somewhat young ; 
Be assured 't is she, or none, 
That I love, and love alone. 

William Bkowsb 



BEAUTY CLEAR AND FAIR. 

Beauty clear and fair, 
"Where the air 

Rather like a perfmue dwells ; 
"Where the violet and the rose 
Their blue veins in blush disclose, 

And come to honor nothing else ; 

"Where to live near. 

And planted there. 

Is to live, and still live new ; 
"Where to gain a favor is 
More than light, perpetual bliss,— 

Make me live by serving you! 

Dear, again back recall 

To this light 
A stranger to himself and all ; 
Both the wonder and the story- 
Shall be yours, and eke the glory ; 
I am your servant, and your thrall. 

Beaumont and Fletcueb 



SPEAK, LOVE! 

Dearest, do not delay me. 

Since, thou knowest, I must be gone ; 
"Wind and tide, 't is thought, do stay me ; 
But 'tis wind that nmst be blown 
From that breath, whose native smell 
Indian odors far excel. 



SOXGS. 



241 



Oh, then speak, thou fairest fair ! 

Kill not hira that vows to serve thee ; 
But perfume tliis neighboring air, 
Else (lull silence, sure, will starve me ; 
'T is a word that 's quickly spoken, 
Which, being restrained, a heart is broken. 

Beatimokt iND Fletcuee. 



TAKE, on ! TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY, 

Take, oh ! take those lips away 
That so sweetly were forsworn. 

And those eyes, the break of day, 
Lights that do mislead the morn ! 

But my kisses bi"ing again, 

Seals of love, though sealed in vain. 



Hide, oh! hide those hills of snow 
Which thy frozen bosom bears, 

On whose tops the pinks that grow 
Are of those that April wears. 

i^ut first set my poor heart free. 

Bound in those icy chains by thee. 

Shakespeake and John Fletohek. 



YOU MEANEE BEAUTIES. 

You meaner beauties of the night, 
That poorly satisfy our eyes 

More by your number than your light — 
You common people of the skies — 
What are you when the njoon shall rise? 



You curious chanters of the wood, 
That warble forth dame nature's lays, 

Thinking your passions understood 

By your weak accents — what's your praise 
Wlicn Philomel lier voice shall raise ? 



You violets that first appear. 

By your pure i)urple mantles known. 

Like the proud virgins of the year, 
As if the spring were all your own — 
What are you when the rose is blown ? 



So when my mistress shall be seen 
In form and beauty of her mind ; 

By virtue first, then choice, a queen — 
Tell me, if she were not designed 
Th' eclipse and glory of her kind ? 

SiK IIenet Wotton. 



THE LOVER TO THE GLOW-WOEMS. 

Ye living lamps, by whose dear light 
The nightingale does sit so late, 

And, studying all the summer night, 
Her matchless songs does meditate ! 

Ye country comets, that portend 
No war, nor prince's funeral, 

Shining unto no other end 
Than to presage the grass's fall ! 

Ye glow-worms, whose officious flame 
To wandering mowers shows the way, 

That in the night have lost their aim, 
And after foolish fires do stray ! 

Your courteous lights in vain you \A'aste, 

Since Juliana here is come ; 
For she my mind hath so displaced. 

That I shall never find my home. 

Andeew Marvell. 



MRS. ELIZ. WHEELER, 

UNDER THE NAME OF THE LOST SHEPHERDESS. 

Among the myrtles as I walkt, 

Love and my sighs thus intertalkt ; 

Tell n^e, said I, in deep distress. 

Where I may find my shepherdess. 

Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this? 

In every thing that 's sweet, she is. 

In yond' carnation go and seek, 

Where thou shalt find her lip and cheek ; 

In that enamelled pansy by, 

There thou shalt have her curious eye ; 

In bloom of peach and rose's bud, 

There waves the streamer of her blood. 

'T is true, said I ; and thereupon, 

I went to pluck them, one by one, 



248 



POEMS OF LOVE, 



To make of parts an union ; 

But on a sudden all were gone. 

At which I stopt ; said Love, these be 

The true resemblances of thee ; 

For as these flowers, thy joys must die, 

And in the turning of an eye ; 

And all thy hopes of her must wither, 

[jike those short sweets ere knit together, 

EOBEKT HeREICK. 



PANGLOKY'S WOOING SONG. 

Love is the blossom where there blows 
Every thing that lives or grows. 
Love doth make the heavens to move. 
And the sun doth burn in love. 
Love the strong and weak doth yoke, 
And makes the ivy climb the oak ; 
Under whose shadows lions wild. 
Softened by love, grow tame and mild. 
Love no med'cine can appease ; 
He biu-ns the fishes in the seas ; 
Not all the skill his wounds can stench ; 
Not all the sea his fire can quench. 
Love did make the bloody spear 
Once a heavy coat to wear ; 
"While in his leaves there shrouded lay 
Sweet birds, for love that sing and play ; 
And of all love's joyful flame, 
I the bud and blossom am. 

Only bend thy knee to me, 
Thy wooing shall thy winning be. 
Sec, see the flowers that below 
Now as fresh as morning blow ; 
And of all, the virgin rose, 
That as briglit Aurora shows — 
How they all unleaved die. 
Losing their virginity ; 
Like unto a summer-shade, 
But now born, and now they fade. 
Every thing doth pass away ; 
There is danger in delay. 
Come, come gather then the rose, 
Gatlier it, or it you lose. 
All the sand of Tagus' shore 
Into my bosom casts his ore ; 
All the valleys' swimming com 
To my house is yearly borne ; 



Every grape of every vine 
Is gladly bruised to make me wine ; 
While ten thousand kings, as proud 
To carry up my train, have bowed ; 
And a world of ladies send me. 
In my chambers to attend me. 
All the stars in heaven that shine, 
And ten thousand more are mine. 
Only bend thy knee to me. 
Thy wooing shall thy winning be. 
Giles Fletcueb 



CASTARA. 

Like the violet, which alone 

Prospers in some happy shade. 

My Castara lives unknown, 
" To no ruder eye betrayed ; 

For she 's to herself untrue 
Who delights i' the public view . 

Such is her beauty as no arts 
Have enriched with borrowed grace. 
Her high birth no pride imparts. 
For she blushes in her place. 

Folly boasts a glorious blood, — 

She is noblest being good. 

Cautious, she knew never yet 

What a wanton courtship meant ; 

Nor speaks loud to boast her wit, 

In her silence, eloquent. 

Of herself survey she takes. 

But 'tween men no difl'orence makes 

She obeys with speedy will 

Her grave parents' wise commands ; 

And so innocent, that ill 

She nor acts, nor i;nderstands. 
Women's feet run still astray 
If to ill they know the way. 

She sails by that rock, the court, 
Where oft virtue splits her mast; 
And retiredness thinks the port. 
Where her fame may anchor cast. 
Virtue safely cannot sit 
Where vice is enthroned for wit. 



SONGS. 



24t 



She holds that d.-iy's pleasure best 
AVhere sin Avaits not on delight ; 
Witliout mask, or ball, or feast, 
Sweetly spends a winter's night. 

O'er that darkness whence is thrust 
Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust. 

She her throne makes reason climb. 
While wild passions captive lie ; 
And each article of time. 
Her pure thoughts to heaven fly ; 
All her vows religious be, 
And she vows her love to me. 

William Habington. 



CANZONET. 

The golden sun that brings the day, 
And lends men light to see withal, 
In vain doth cast his beams away. 
When they are blind on whom they fall ; 
There is no force in all his light 
To give the mole a perfect sight. 

But thou, my sun, more bright than he 
That shines at noon in summer tide, 
Ilast given me light and power to see, 
With perfect skill my sight to guide ; 
Till now I lived as blind as mole 
Tliat hides her head in earthly hole. 

I heard the praise of beauty's grace, 
Yet deemed it nought but poet's skill ; 
I gazed on many a lovely foce. 
Yet found I none to bend my will ; 
Which made me think that beauty bright 
Was nothing else but red and white. 

But now thy beams have cleared my sight, 
I blush to think I was so blind ; 
Thy flaining eyes afford me light. 
That l)eauty's blaze each where I find ; 
And yet those dames that shine so bright 
Are but the shadows of thy light. 

Thoma'S Watson. 

36 



THE NIGHT PIECE. 



Her eyes the glow-worme lend thee. 
The shooting-starres attend thee ; 

And the elves also. 

Whose little eyes glow 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

No Will-o'-th'-wispe mislight thee. 
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ; 

But on thy way, 

Not making stay. 
Since ghost there 's none t' aftright thee ! 

Let not the darke thee cumber ; 

What though the moon does slumber? 
The stars of the night 
Will lend thee their light, 

Like tapers cleare, without number. 

Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
Thiis, thus to come unto me ; 

And when I shall meet 

Thy silvery feet, 
My soule I 'le pour into thee ! 

Egbert IIeueiok. 



TO LUCASTA, 

ox GOING TO THE WAES. 

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, 

That from the nunnerie 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde, 

To warre and amies I flee. 

True, a new mistresse now I chase — 

The first foe in the field ; 
And with a stronger faith imbrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet tliis inconstancy is such. 
As you, too, should adore ; 

I could not love thee, deare, so nuich. 
Loved I not honor more. 

KlCIIARD LOVELACS, 



250 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



DISDAIN" RETURNED. 

He that loves a rosy cheek, 

Or a coral lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes doth seek 

Fuel to raaintahi his fires — 
As old Time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts and calm desires. 

Hearts with equal love combined, 
Kindle never-dying fires. 

Where these are not, I desi:)ise 

Lovely, cheeks, or lips, or eyes. 

No tears, Celia, now shall win 
My resolved heart to return ; 

T liave searched thy soul within, 

And find nought but pride and scorn; 

I have learned thy arts, and now 

Can disdain as much as thou. 

Some power, in my revenge, convey 

That love to her I cast away ! 

Thomas Caeew. 



TO ALTIIEA— FROM PRISOJT. 

When Love, with unconfined wings. 

Hovers within my gates. 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at my grates ; 
When I lie tangled in her hair 

And fettered to her eye — 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no such liberty. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 
Our careless heads with roses bound. 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep. 

When healths and draughts go free- 
Fishes, tliat tipple in the deep. 

Know no such liberty. 



When, like committed linnets I 

With shriller throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 

And glories of my king ; 
When I shall voice aloud how good 

He is, how great should be — 
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood. 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage. 
If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soul am free — 
Angels alone, that soar above. 

Enjoy such liberty. 

Richard Lovelace 



TO LUOASTA. 

If to be absent were to be 
Away from thee ; 
Or that, when I am gone. 
You or I were alone ; 
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 
Pity from blustering wind or swallowing 
wave. 

But I '11 not sigh one blast or gale 
To swell my sail. 
Or pay a tear to 'suage 
The foaming blue-god's rage ; 
For, whether he will let me pass 
Or no, I 'm still as happy as I was. 

Though seas and lands be 'twixt us both, 
Our faith and troth, 
Like separated souls. 
All time and space controls : 
Above the highest sphere we meet, 
Unseen, unknown ; and greet as angels greet. 

So, then, we do anticipate 
Our after-t;;te, 
And are alive i' th' skies, 
If thus our lips and eyes 
Can speak like spirits unconfined 
In heaven — their earthly bodies left behind. 

EicHAKP Lovelace. 



SONGS. 251 


SUPERSTITION. 


A SONG. 


1 CARE not, though it be 


To thy lover. 


15y the preciser sort thought popery ; 


Dear, discover 


^Ve poets can a license show 


That sweet blush of thine, that shameth 


For every thing we do. 


(When those roses 


Hear, then, my little saint ! I'll pray to thee. 


It discloses) 




All the flowers that nature nameth. 


If now thy happy mind, 


In free air 
Flow thy hair, 
That no more summer's best dresses 
Be beholden 
For their golden 


A midst its various joys, can leisure find 
To attend to any thing so low 
As what I say or do, 

IJogard, and be what thou wast ever — kind. 


Lot not the blest above 


Locks, to Phojbus' flaming tresses. 


Ei.gross thee quite, but sometimes hither 


deliver 


rove ; 


Love his quiver ! 


Fain would I thy sweet image see, 
And sit and talk with thee ; 


From thy eyes he shoots his arrows. 
Where Apollo 


Nor is it curiosity, but love. 


Cannot follow. 




Feathered with his mother's sparrows. 


Ah ! what delight 'twould be. 




Wouldst thou sometimes, by stealth, converse 


envy not 


with me ! 


(That we die not) 


How should I thy sweet commune prize. 


Those dear lips, whose door encloses 


And other joys despise ; 


All the Graces 


Come, then, I ne'er was yet denied by thee. 


In their places. 




Brother pearls, and sister roses. 


I would not long detain 




Thy soul from bliss, nor keep thee here in 


From these treasures 


pain ; 


Of ripe pleasures 


Nor should thy fellow-saints e'er know 


One bright smile to clear the weather ; 


Of thy escape below ; 


Eai'th and heaven 


Before thou 'rt missed, thou shouldst return 


Thus made even. 


again. 


Both wiU be good friends together. 


Sure heaven must needs thy love. 


The air does woo thee ; 


As well as other qualities, improve ; 


Winds cling to thee ; 


Come, then, and recreate my sight 


Might a word once fly from oat thee, 


With rays of thy pure light ; 


Storm and thunder 


'Twill cheer my eyes more than the lamps 


Would sit under. 


above. 


And keep silence round about thee. 


But if fate's so severe 


But if nature's 


As to confine thee to thy blissful sphere. 


Common creatures 


(And by thy absence I shall know 


So dear glories dare not borrow ; 


Whether thy state be so,) 


Yet thy beauty 


Live happy, and be mindful of me there. 


Owes a duty 


John Norris. 


To my loving, lingering sorrow. 



252 



FOEMS OF LOVE. 



"When, to end me, 

Death shall send me 
All his terrors to affright me ; 

Thine eyes' graces 

Gild their faces, 
And those terrors shall delight me. 

"When my dying 

Life is iiying, 
Those sweet airs that often slew me, 

Shall revive me. 

Or reprieve me. 
And to many deaths renew me. 

PacHARD Ceasiiaw. 



AH, now S"WEET IT IS TO LOVE. 

An, how sweet it is to love ! 

Ah, how gay is young desire ! 

And what pleasing pains we prove 

"When we first approach love's fire ! 
Pains of love he sweeter far 
Than all other pleasures are. 

Sighs, which are from lovers blown, 
Do but gently heave the heart ; 
E'en the tears they shed alone. 
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. 

Lovers, when they lose their breath. 

Bleed away in easy death. 

Love and time with reverence use ; 

Treat them like a parting friend, 

Nor the golden gifts refuse 

"Which in youth sincere they send ; 
For each year their price is more, 
And they less simple than before. 

Love, like spring-tides, full and high, 
Swells in every youthful vein ; 
But each tide does less supply, 
Till they quite shrink in again ; 
If a flow in age appear, 
'T is but rain, and runs not clear. 

John Drtden. 



SOXG. 

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, 
"When June is past, the fading rose ; 
For, in j^our beauty's orient deep. 
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. 

Ask me no more whither do stray 
The golden atoms of the day ; 
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare 
Those powders to enrich your hair. 

Ask me no more whither doth haste 
The nightingale when May is past ; 
For in your sweet, dividing throat 
She winters, and keeps warm her note. 

Ask me no more where those stars light 
That downwards fall in dead of night ; 
For in your eyes they sit, and there 
Fixed become, as in their sphere. 

Ask me no more if east or west 
The phoenix builds her spicy nest ; 
For unto you at last she flies. 
And in your fragrant bosom dies. 

Thomas Caeew, 



PHILOMELA'S ODE 

THAT SHE SUXG IX HER AEBOE. 

Sitting by a river's side 
"Where a silent stream did glide, 
Muse I did of many things 
That the mind in quiet brings. 
I 'gan think how some men deem 
Gold their god ; and some esteem 
Honor is the chief content 
That to man in life is lent; 
And some others do contend 
Quiet none like to a friend. 
Others hold there is no wealth 
Compared to a perfect health ; 
Some man's mind in quiet stands 
"When he 's lord of many lands. 
But I did sigh, and said all this 
"Was but a shade of perfect bliss ; 



SONGS. 



253 



And in my thoughts I did approve 
Nought so sweet as is true love. 
Love 'twixt lovers passeth these, 
When mouth kisseth and heart 'grees — 
With folded arras and lips meeting, 
Eacli soul another sweetly greeting ; 
For by the breath the soul fleeteth, 
And soul with soul in kissing meetetli. 
If love be so sweet a thing. 
That such happy bliss doth bring, 
Happy is love's sugared thrall ; 
But unhappy maidens all 
Who esteem your virgin blisses 
Sweeter than a wife's sweet kisses. 
No such quiet to the mind 
As true love with kisses kind ; 
But if a kiss prove unchaste, 
Then is true love quite disgraced. 
Though love be sweet, learn this of me, 
T^o sweet love but honesty. 

EoBERT Greene. 



COME AWAY, DEATH. 

Come away, come away, death. 
And in sad cypress let me be laid ! 

Fly away, fly away, breath : 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 

My shroud of white, stuck aU with yew, 

Oh, prepare it ; 
My part of death no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 
On my black coflin let there be strown ; 

Xot a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, wdiere my bones shall be 
thrown. 
A thousand, thousand sighs to save. 

Lay me, Oh ! where 
Sad true-love never find my grave. 
To weep there. 

SlI.lKESPEABS. 



THE TOMB. 

WnEX, cruel fair one, I am slain 

By thy disdain, 
And, as a trophy of thy scorn. 
To some old tomb am borne. 
Thy fetters must their powers bequeath 
To those of death ; 
Nor can thy flame immoi'tal burn, 
Like monumental fires within an urn : 
Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall 

prove 
There is more liberty in death than love. 

And when forsaken lovers come 

To see my tomb. 
Take heed thou mix not with the crowd, 

And, (as a victor) proud 
To view the spoils thy beauty made, 
Press near my shade ; 

Lest thy too cruel breath or name 
Should tan my ashes back into a flame, 
And thou, devoured by this revengeful fire, 
His sacrifice, who died as thine, expire. 

But if cold earth or marble must 

Conceal my dust, 
Whilst, hid in some dark ruins, I 

Dumb and forgotten lie. 
The pride of all thy victory 

Will sleep with me ; 
And they Avho should attest thy glory. 
Will or forget or not believe this story. 
Then to increase tliy triumph, let me rest. 
Since by thine eye slain, buried in thy breast 
Thomas Stanley. 



LOVE NOT ME. 

Love not me for comely grace. 
For my pleasing eye or face. 
Nor for any outward part. 
No, nor for my constant heart ; 
For those may fail or turn to ill, 
So thou and I shall sever ; 
Keep therefore a true woman's eye. 
And love me still, but know not why. 
So hast thou the same reason still 
To doat upon me ever. 

Anonymous. 



254 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



THE EXEQUIES. 

Draw near 
You lovers, that complain, 
Of fortune or disdain, 
And to my ashes lend a tear ! 
Melt the hard marble with your groans, 
And soften the relentless stones. 
Whose cold embraces the sad subject hide 
Of all love's cruelties, and beauty's pride ! 

No verse, 
No epicedium bring ; 
Nor peaceful requiem sing, 
To charm the terrors of my hearse ! 
No profane numbers must flow near 
The sacred silence that dwells here. 
Vast griefs are dumb ; softly, oh softly 

mourn ! 
Lest you distui'b the peace attends my urn. 

Yet strew 
Upon my dismal grave 
Such offerings as you have — 
Forsaken cypress, and sad yew ; 
For kinder flowers can take no birth 
Or growth from such unhappy earth. 
Weep only o'er my dust, and say, "Here lies 
To love and fate an equal sacrifice." 

Thomas Stanlet. 



THE MILK-MAID'S SONG. 

THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 

Come live with me, and be my love. 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields. 
Woods or steepy mountains yields. 

There will w^e sit upon the rocks. 
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks 
By shallow rivers to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee beds of roses 
With a thousand fragrant posies ; 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, 
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. 



A gown made of the finest wool. 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
Fair-lined slippers for the cold, 
With buckles of the purest gold ; 

A belt of straw, and ivy buds. 
With coral clasps and amber studs ; 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Come live with me, and be my love. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sius 
For thy delight each May morning : 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Then live with me, and be my love. 

Christopher Marlowe. 



THE MILK-MAID'S MOTHEE'S ANSWER, 
the nymph's reply. 

If that the world and love were young. 
And truth in every .shepherd's tongue. 
These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee and be thy love. 

But time drives flocks from field to fold. 
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold ; 
And Philomel becometh dumb. 
And all complain of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To wayward winter reckoning yields ; 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten— 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs — 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee, and be thy love. 

But could youth last, and love still breed. 
Had joys no date, nor age no need. 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

SiK "Walter Balsioh. 



MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE. 



256 



MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE. 

PAKT FIRST. 

Mt dear and only love, I pray, 

This noble world of thee 
Be governed by no otlier sway 

But purest monarcliie. 
For if confusion have a part, 

Which virtuous souls abhore, 
And hold a synod in thy heart, 

I '11 never love thee more. 

Like jilexander I will reign, 

And I will reign alone, 
My thoughts shall evermore disdain 

A rival on my throne. 
He either fears his fate too much, 

Or his deserts are small. 
That puts it not unto the touch, 

To Avin or lose it all. 

But I must rule and govern still 

And always give the law, 
And have each subject at my will, 

And all to stand in awe. 
But 'gainst my battery if I find 

Thou shun'st the prize so sore 
As that thou set'st me up a blind, 

I '11 never love thee more. 

If in the empire of thy heart, 

"Where I should solely be. 
Another do pretend a part. 

And dares to vie with me ; 
Or if committees thou erect, 

And go on such a scoi-e, 
I '11 sing and laugh at thy neglect. 

And never love thee more. 

But if thou wil-t be constant then. 

And faithfid of thy word, 
I '11 make thee glorious by my pen. 

And famous by my sword. 
I '11 serve thee in such noble ways 

Was never heard before ; 
I '11 crown and deck thee all with bays. 

And love thee evermore, 

PAKT SECOXD. 

My dear and only love, take heed. 
Lest thou thyself expose, 



And let all longing lovers feed 

Upon such looks as those. 
A marble wall then build about, 

Beset without a door ; 
But if thou let thy heart fly out, 

I '11 never love thee moi'e. 

Let not their oaths, like volleys shot, 

Make any breach at all ; 
Nor smoothness of their language plot 

Wliich way to scale the wall ; 
Nor balls of wild-fire love consume 

The shrine which I adore ; 
For if such smoke about thee fume, 

I '11 never love thee more. 

I think thy virtues be too strong 

To sufier by surprise ; 
Those victualled by my love so long. 

The siege at length must rise, 
And leave thee ruled in that health 

And state thou wast before ; 
But if thou turn a commonwealth, 

I 'U never love thee more. 

Or if by fraud, or by consent, 

Thy heart to mine come, 
I '11 sound no trumpet as I wont. 

Nor march by tuck of drum ; 
But hold my arms, like ensigns, up, 

Thy falsehood to deplore. 
And bitterly will sigh and weep, 

And never love thee more. 

I '11 do with thee as Nero did 

When Rome was set on fire, 
Not only all relief forbid. 

But to a hill retire. 
And scorn to shed a tear to see 

Thy spirit grown so poor ; 
But smiling sing, until I die, 

I'll never love thee more. 

Yet, for the love I bare thee once, 

Lest that thy name should die, 
A monument of marble-stone 

The truth shall testifie ; 
That every pilgrim passing by 

May pity and deplore 
My case, and read the reason why 

I can love thee no moi-e. 



256 POEMSOFLOVE. 


The golden laws of love shall be 


" Alas ! he had too just a cause 


Upon this pillar hung, — 


Never to love thee more." 


A simple heart, a single eye, 




A true and constant tongue ; 


And when that tracing goddess Fame 


Let no man for more love pretend 


From east to west shall flee. 


Than he has hearts in store ; 


She shall record it, to thy sbame, 


True love begun sliall never end ; 


How thou hast loved me ; 


Love one and love no more. 


And how in odds our love was such 




As few have been before ; 


Then shall thy heart be set by mine. 


Thou loved too many, and I too much. 


But in far different case ; 


So I can love no more. 


For mine was true, so was not thine. 


James Geaham, Makquis op Montkose. 


But lookt like Janus' face. 
For as the waves with every wind. 






So sail'st thou every shore. 


WELCOArF,, WELCOME. 


And leav'st my constant heart behind, — 




How can I love thee more ? 


Welcome, xcehome, do I sing, 




Far more welcome than the spring ; 


;My heart shall with the sun be fixed 


He that parteth from you never, 


For constancy most strange, 


Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 


And thine shall with the moon be mixed, 






Love that to the voice is near, 


Delighting ay in change. 




Thy beauty shined at first more bright, 


Breaking from your ivory pale, 


Need not walk abroad to hear 


And woe is me therefore. 




That ever I found thy love so light 
I could love thee no more ! 


The delightful nightingale. 

Welcome, xoelcome, then I sing, 




Far more loelcome than the sjmng; 


The misty mountains, smoking lakes. 


He that parteth from yon never, 


The rocks' resounding echo. 


Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 


The whistling wind that murmur makes, 


Love, that still looks on your eyes, 


Shall with me sing hey ho ! 


Though the winter have begun 


The tossing seas, the tumbling boats, 


To benumb our arteries. 


Tears dropping from each shore, 


Shall not want the summer's sun. 


Shall tune with me their turtle notes — 


Welcome, tcelcome, then I sing, 


I '11 never love thee more. 


Far more xcelcome than the spring ; 


As doth the turtle, chaste and true. 


He that parteth from you never, 


Her fellow's death regrete, 


Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 


And daily mourns for his adieu. 


Love, that still may see your cheeks, 


And ne'er renews her mate ; 


Where all rareness still reposes, 


So, though thy faith was never fast. 


Is a fool if e'er he seeks 


AVhich grieves me wondrous sore, 


Other lilies, other roses. 


Yet I shall live in love so chast. 


Welcome, xcelcome, then I sing, 


That I shall love no more. 


Far more welcome than tJie spring ; 




He tliat parteth from you never. 


And when all gallants ride about 


Shall enjoy a spiring for ever. 


These monuments to view. 




Whereon is written, in and out. 


Love, to whom your soft lip yields, 


Thou traitorous and untrue ; 


And perceives your breath in kissing, 


Then in a passion they shall pause, 


All the odors of the fields 


And thus say, sighing sore, 


Never, never shall be missing. 



LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. 



257 



Welco7ne, welcome, tJien I sing, 
Far more welcome than tlie spring ; 
He tliatpartcth from you never, 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love, that question would anew 

What fair Etlen was of old, 
Let him rightly study you. 
And a brief of that behold. 
Welcome, welcome, then I sing. 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
He that partetJi from you never. 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

William Browne. 



BLEST AS THE IMMOETAL GODS. 

Blest as the immortal gods is he, 
The youth who fondly sits by thee, 
And hears and sees thee all the while 
Softly speak, and sweetly smile. 

'T was this deprived my soul of rest, 
And raised such tumults in my breast : 
For while I gazed, in transport tost, 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 

My bosom glowed ; the subtle tlame 
Ean quick through all my vital frame : 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ; 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

In dewy damps my limbs were chilled ; 
My blood with gentle horrors thrilled : 
My feeble pulse forgot to play — 
I fainted, sunk, and died away. 

Sappho. (Greek.) 
Transkition of Ambrose Prixlips. 



KULNASATZ, IVi EEINDEER. 

A LAPLAXD SONG. 

KinxA^ATZ, my reindeer, 
"We have along journey to go; 
The moors are vast, 
And we must haste. 
Our strength, I fear. 
Will fail, if we are slow ; 
And so 
Our songs will do. 
37 



Kaige, the watery moor, 
Is pleasant unto me. 
Though long it be, 
Since it doth to my mistress lead, 
Whom I adore ; 
The Kilwa moor 
I ne'er again will tread. 

Thoughts filled my mind. 
Whilst I through Kaige passed 
Swift as the wind, 
And my desire 
Winged with impatient fire ; 
My reindeer, let us haste ! 

So shall we quickly end our pleasing pain — 

Behold my mistress there. 
With decent motion walking o'er the plain. 
Kulnasatz, my reindeer. 
Look yonder, where 

She washes in the lake ! 
See, while she swims, 
The water from her purer limbs 
New clearness take ! 

AsONTMOrS. 



LINES TO AN INDIAN AIE. 

I ARISE from dreams of thee 
In the first sweet sleep of night, 
When the winds are breathing low, 
And the stai's are shining bright. 
I arise from dreams of thee. 
And a spirit in my feet 
Has led me — who knows how ? 
To thy chamber window, sweet ! 

The wandering airs, they faint 
On the dark and silent stream — 
The champak odors fail 
Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
The nightingale's complaint, 
It dies upon her heart, 
As I must on thine, 
Beloved as thou art ! 

Oh, lift me from the grass ! 
Idle, Ifamt, I fail! 
Let thy love in kisses rain 
On my lips and eyelids pale. 



258 



FOE MS OF LOVE. 



My cheek is cold and white, alas ! 
My heart beats loud and fast ; 
Oh ! press it close to thine again, 
Where it will break at last. 

Peecy Bysshe Shelley. 



MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PAET. 

Zu?/ iiov^ cag ayaTru. 

Maid of Athens, ere we pai-t, 
Give, oh, give me back my heart ! 
Or, since that has left my breast, 
Keep it now, and take the rest! 
Hear my vow before I go, 
ZuT] )iov, cdg ayaTfu. 

By those tresses uneonfined, 
Wooed by each ^gean wind ; 
By those lids whose jetty fringe 
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; 
By those wild eyes like the roe, 
Zw7 f.toi>, cdg ayaiTu. 

By that lip I long to taste ; 
By that zone-encircled waist; 
By all the token-flowers that tell 
What words can never speak so well ; 
By love's alternate joy and woe, 
Zurj /lov, adg ayanu. 

Maid of Athens ! I am gone— 

Think of me, sweet, when alone. 

Though I fly to Istambol, 

Athens holds my heart and soul. 

Can I cease to love thee ? No! 

Zw77 uov cdg ayai^u. 

Lord Byron. 



Forgive me if I cannot turn away 

From those sweet eyes that are my earthly 

heaven. 
For they are guiding stars, benignly given 
To tempt my footsteps to the upward way ; 
And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight, 
I live and love in God's peculiar light. 

Michael Angelo. (Italian > 
Translation of J. E. Taylor. 



SONNET. 

The might of one fair face subhmes my love, 
For it hath weaned my heart from low de- 
sires ; 
Nor death I heed, nor purgatorial fires. 
Thy beauty, antepast of joys above. 
Instructs me in the bliss that saints approve ; 
For oh ! how good, how beautiful, must be 
The God that made so good a thing as thee. 
So fair an image of the heavenly Dove. 



LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 

The fountains mingle with the river, 

And the rivers with the ocean ; 
The winds of heaven mix for ever, 

With a sweet emotion ; 
Nothing in the world is single ; 

All things by a law divine 
In one another's being mingle — 

Why not I with thine ? 

See the mountains kiss high heaven. 

And the waves clasp one another ; 
No sister flower would be forgiven 

If it disdained its brother ; 
And the sunlight clasps the earth. 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea;- 
What are all these kissmgs worth, 

If thou kiss not me ? 

Percy Bysshe Shelley, 



to- 



One word is too often profaned 

For me to profane it. 
One feeling too falsely disdained 

For thee to disdain it. 
One hope is too hke despair 

For prudence to smother, . 
And pity from thee more dear 

Than that from another. 

I can give not w^hat men call love ; 

But wilt thou accept not 
The worship the heart hfts above 

And the heavens reject not: 
The desire of the moth for the star, 

Of the night for the morrow. 
The devotion to something afar ^ 

From the splxere of our sorrow ? 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



SONGS. 



259 



THE GIRL OF CADIZ. 



On, uever talk agaiu to me 

Of northern climes and British ladies ; 
It has not been your lot to see 

Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz. 
Although her eyes be not of blue, 

Nor fair her locks, like English lasses', 
How far its own expressive hue 

The languid azure eye surpasses ! 



Prometheus-like, from lieaven she stole 

The fii'e that through those silken lashes 
In darkest glances seems to roll. 

From eyes that cannot hide their flashes ; 
And as along her bosom steal 

In lengthened flow her raven tresses, 
You 'd swear each clustering lock could feel. 

And curled to give her neck caresses. 



Our English maids are long to woo. 

And frigid even in possession ; 
And if their charms be fair to view. 

Their lips are slow at love's confession ; 
But, born beneath a brighter sun, 

For love ordained the Spanish maid is. 
And who, — when fondly, fairly won, — 

Enchants you like the girl of Cadiz? 

The Spanish maid is no coquette, 

Nor joys to see a lover tremble ; 
And if she love, or if she hate, 

Alike she knows not to dissemble. 
Iler heart can ne'er be bought or sold — 

Ilowe'er it beats, it beats sincerely ; 
And, though it will not bend to gold, 

'T will love you long, and love you dearly, 

V. 

The Spanish girl that meets your love 

Xe'er taunts you with a mock denial ; 
For every thought is bent to prove 

Iler passion in the hour of trial. 
Wlien thronging foemen menace Spain 

S-he dares the deed and shares the danger ; 
;Vnd sliould her lover press the plain. 

She hurls the spear, her love's avenger. 



And Avhen, beneath the evening star, 

She mingles in the gay bolero ; 
Or sings to her attuned guitar 

Of Christian knight or Moorish hero ; 
Or counts her beads with fairy hand 

Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper ; 
Or joins devotion's choral band 

To chant the sweet and hallowed vesper : 



In each her charms the heart must move 

Of all who venture to behold her. 
Then let not maids less fair reprove. 

Because her bosom is not colder ; 
Through many a clime 't is mine to roam 

Where many a soft and melting maid is^ 
But none abroad, and few at home, 

May match the dark-eyed giri of Cadiz. 

Lord BrKCN, 



SONG. 



The heath this night must be my bed, 
The bracken curtain for my head. 
My lullaby the Avarder's tread. 

Far, far from love and thee, Mary ; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 
My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid ! 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 

I may not, dare not, fancy now 

The grief that clouds thy lovely brow ; 

I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know : 
When bursts Clan- Alpine on the foe, 
His heart must be like bended bow, 

His foot like arrow free, Mary, 

A time will come with feeling fraught ! 
For, if I fall in battle fought. 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary ! 
And if returned from conquered foes, 
How blithely will the evening close. 
How sweet the linnet sing repose 

To my young bride and me, Mary ! 

SiK Walter ^coit. 



260 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

TnERE be none of beauty's daughters 

With a magic hlce thee ; 
And like music on the waters 

Is thy svreet voice to me : 
^Yhe^, as if its sound were causmg 
Tlie charmed ocean's pausing, 
The waves he still and gleaming, 
And the lulled winds seem dreaming, 

And tlie midnight moon is weaving 
Her bright chain o'er the deep, 

Whose breast is gently heaving. 
As an infant's asleep ; 

So the spirit bows before thee. 

To listen and adore thee 

With a full but soft emotion. 

Like the swell of summer's ocean. 

Lord Btron. 



UERE 'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E 
DEAR. 

Here 's a health to ane I lo'e deai\ 

Here 's a health to ane I We dear ; 

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers 

meet, 
And soft as the parting tear — Jessy ! 

Altiio' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied, 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 

Tlian aught in the world beside — Jessy ! 

I mourn thro' the gaj^, gaudy day, 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ; 

But welcome the dream o' sweet shnnber, 
For then I am locked in thy arms — Jessy ! 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 

I guess by the love-rolling ee ; 
Bnt why urge the tender confession 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy ! 
Here 's a health to ane I Zo'e dear, 
Here 's a health to ane I We dear ; 
Tlio'U, art sicect as the smile when fond lovers 

meet, 
And soft as the x>arting tear — Jessy ! 

Egbert Burns. 



CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. 

Co' the yoices to the liiowes, 
Go' them ichere the heather gropes, 
Ca'' them tohere the lurnie rotes, 
My lonnie dearie. 

Hark the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods among; 
Then a faulding let us gang, 
My bonuie dearie. 

We '11 gae down by Olouden side, 

Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 

O'er the waves that sweetly glide 

To the moon sae clearly. 

Yonder Olouden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshine, midnight hours, 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou 'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonnie dearie. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart ; 
I can die — but canna part. 
My bonnie dearie. 

While waters wimple to the sea, 
While day blinks in the lift sae hie, 
Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my ee, 
Y''e shall be my dearie. 

Co' the yoices to the Tcnoices, 
Ca'' them where the heather groics^ 
Ca'' them where the lurnie roics, 
My ionnie dearie. 

Egbert Burns. 



FAREWELL TO NANCY. 

Ae fond kiss and then we sever ! 
Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee ; 
Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 



THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE, 



261 



I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy — 
Naething could resist my Nancy : 
But to see her was to love lier, 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never loved sac kindly, 
Had we never loved sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 
Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee ; 
Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 

EoBEET Burns. 



OF A' THE ATRTS THE "WIND CAN 
BLAW. 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly hke the west ; 
For there the bonnie lassie lives. 

The lassie I lo'e best. 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And monie a hill 's between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air ; 
There 's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green — 
There 's not a bonnie bird that sings. 

But minds me of my Jean. 

KOBEET BUENS. 



A EED, RED ROSE. 

On, my luve's like a red, red rose. 
That 's newly sprung in June ; 

Oh, my luve 's like the mclodie 
That 's sweetly played in time. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
So deep in luve am I ; 



And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
Till a' the seas gang dry — 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; 

I will luve thee still, my dear, 
Wliile the sands of life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel a while ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

Egbert Burns, 



THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 

'T WAS even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls did hang; 
The zephyr wantoned round the bean 

And bore its fragrant sweets along ; 
In every glen the mavis sang. 

All nature listening seemed the while. 
Except where green-wood echoes rang 

Amang the braes o' BaUochmyle. 

With careless step I onward strayed ; 

My heart rejoiced in nature's joy; 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanced to spy* 
Her look was like the morning's eye. 

Her air like nature's vernal smile ; 
Perfection whispered, passing by. 

Behold the lass o' BaUochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in autumn mild, 
When roving thro' the garden ga^'. 

Or wandering in a lonely wild ; 
But woman, nature's darling child ! 

Tliere all her charms she does compile; 
Ev'n there her other works are foiled 

By the bonnie lass o' BaUochmyle. 

Oh, had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain ! 
Thro' weary mnter's wind and rain 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
Ajid nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie lass o' BaUochmyle. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Then pride might climb the slippery steep 

Where fame and honors lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine. 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks or till the soil. 
And every day have joys divine 

With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

KoBERT Burns. 



ADDKESS TO A LADY. 

On, wei't thon in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea ; 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I 'd shelter thee, I 'd shelter thee : 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around tliee blaw. 
Thy bield should be my bosom. 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae bleak and bare, sac bleak and bare. 
The desert were a paradise 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign ; 
The brightest jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 
KoBERT Burns. 



ANNIE LAUEIE. 

Maxwelton braes are bonnie 
Where early fa's the dew, 
And it 's there that Annie Laurie 
Gie'd me her promise true ; 
Gie'd me her promise true, 
Which ne'er forgot will be ; 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I 'd lay me doune and dee. 

Her brow is hke the snaw drift; 
Iler throat is like the swan ; 
Her face it is the fairest 
That e'er the sun shone on — 
That e'er tlie sun shone on — 
And dark blue is her ee; 



And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I 'd lay me doune and dee. 

Like dew on the gov/an lying 

Is tlie fa' o' her fairy feet ; 

And like the winds in summer sighing, 

Her voice is low and sweet — 

Her voice is low and sweet — 

And she 's a' the world to me ; 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie 

I 'd lay me doune and dee. 

ANONYMOtrS. 






THOU HAST VOWED BY THY FAITH, 
MY JEANIE. 

Tnou hast vowed by thy faith, my Jeanie, 

By that pretty white hand o' thine, 
And by all the lowing stars in heaven, 

That thou wad aye be mine ! 
And I have sworn by my faith, my Jeanie, 

And by that kind heart o' thine, 
By all the stars sown thick o'er heaven, 

That thou shalt aye be mine ! 

Then foul fa' the hands wad loose sic bands. 

And the heart wad part sic love ; 
But there 's nae hand can loose the band. 

But the finger of Him above. 
Tho' the wee, wee cot maun be my bield. 

An' my clothing e'er so mean, 
I should lap up rich in the faulds of love, 

Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean. 

Her white arm wad be a pillow to me. 

Far softer than the down ; 
And Love wad winnow o'er us, his kind, 
kind wings. 

And sweetly we 'd sleep, an' soun'. 
Come here to me, thou lass whom I love, 

Come here and kneel wi' me ; 
The morn is full of the presence of God, 

And I canna pray but thee. 

The morn-wind is sweet amang tho new 
flowers. 

The wee birds sing saft on the tree ; 
Our gudeman sits in the bonnie sunshine, 

And a blithe auld bodie is he. 



FAIR INES. 



263 



The beiik maim be ta'en whan he comes 
liame, 
■Wi' the holy psahnodie ; 
And I will speak of thee whan I pray, 
And thou maun speak of me. 

Allan Cunkikgdam. 



•on, SAAV YE THE LASS. 

On saw yo the lass wi' the bonny blue een ? 
ITer smile is the sweetest that ever was seen ; 
Ilcr cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween; 
She 's tlie loveliest lassie that trips on the 

green. 
The home of my love is below in the valley, 
Where wild flowers welcome the wandering 

bee; 
But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that 

is seen 
Is the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een. 

When night overshadows her cot in the glen, 
IShe'll steal out to meet her loved Donald 

again ; 
And when the moon shines on the valley so 

green, 
I '11 welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue een. 
As the dove that has wandered away from 

his nest, 
Returns to the mate his fond heart loves the 

best, 
I '11 fly from the world's false and vanishing 

scene, 
To my dear one, the lass wi' the bonny blue 

een. 

ElCHAED RtAN. 



BONNIE LESLIE. 

On saw ye bonnie Leslie 
As she gaed o'er the border ? 

She 's gaue, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests further. 

To see her is to love her, 
And lovo but her for ever ; 

For nature made her what she is, 
And ne'er made sic anither. 



Thou art a queen, fair Leslie — 
Thy subjects WB, before thee ; 

Thou art divine, fair Leslie — 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The deil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belaug thee ; 

He 'd look into thy bonnie face. 
And say, "I caunawrang thee." 

The powers aboon wiU tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha'na steer thee ; 
Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they 'U ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Leslie ! 

Return to Oaledonie ! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There 's nane again sae bormie. 

KOBEKT Bt7KS§. 



FAIR INES. 



On saw ye not fair Ines ? 

She 's gone into the west, 

To dazzle when the sun is down, 

And rob the world of rest ; 

She took our daylight with her, 

The smiles that we love best, 

With morning blushes on her cheek, 

And pearls upon her breast. 



Oh turn again, fair Ines, 

Before the fall of night, 

For fear the moon should shine alone, 

And stars unrivalled bright; 

And blessed will the lover be 

That walks beneath their light. 

And breathes the love against thy cheek 

I dare not eveJi write ! 



Would I had been, fair Ines, 
That gdlant cavalier 
Who rode so gayly by thy side, 
And whispered thee so near ! — 



264 POEMS OF LOVE. 


Were there no bonny dames at home, 


When, at eve, thou rovest 


Or no true lovers- here, 


By the star thou lovest, 


That he should cross the seas to win 


Oil then remember me! 


The dearest of the dear ? 


Think, when home returning. 




Bright we 've seen it burning, 


IV. 


Oh thus remember me ! 


1 saw thee, lovely Ines, 


Oft as summer closes, 


Descend along the shore, 


When thine eye reposes 


With hands of noble gentlemen. 


On its lingering roses. 


And banners waved before ; 


Once so loved by thee, 


And gentle youth and maidens gay, 


Think of her who wove them, 


And snowy illumes they wore ; — 


Her who made thee love them ; 


It would have been a beauteous dream. 


Oh then remember me ! 


— If it had been no more ! 






When, around thee dying. 


V. 


Autumn leaves are lying, 


Alas ! alas ! fair Ines ! 


Oh then remember me ! 


She went away with song, 


And, at night, when gazing 


With music waiting on her steps, 


On the gay hearth blazing, 


And shoutings of the throng ; 


Oh still remember me ! 


But some were sad, and felt no mirth. 


Then should music, stealing 


But only music's wrong. 


All the soul of feeling. 


In sounds that sang Farewell, farewell ! 


To thy heart appeahng, 


To her you 've loved so long. 


Draw one tear from thee — 




Then let memory bring thee 


VI. 


Strains I used to sing thee ; 


Farewell, farewell, fair Ines ! 


Oh then remember me ! 


That vessel never bore 


Thomas Mooee. 


So fair a lady on its deck, 
Nor danced so light before — 




' 


Alas for pleasure on the sea, 




And sorrow on the shore ! 


FLY TO THE DESERT. 


The smile that blest one lover's heart 




Has broken many more ! 


Fly to the desert, fly with me — 


Thomas Hood. 


Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 




But, oh! the choice what heart can doubt, 
Of tents with love, or thrones without ? 




GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE ! 






Our rocks are rough ; but smiling there 


Go Avhere glory waits thee ; 


The acacia waves her yellow hair — 


; But, while fame elates thee. 


Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 


' Oh still remember me ! 


For flowering in a wilderness. 


; When the praise thou meetcst 




To thine ear is sweetest, 


Our sand3 are bare ; but down their slope 


Oh then remember me ! 


The silvery-footed antelope 


[ Other arms may press thee, 


As gracefully and gayly springs 


1 Dearer friends caress thee — 


As o'er the marble courts of kings. 


j All the joys that bless thee 




■ Sweeter far may be ; 


Tlien come — thy Arab maid will be 


But when friends are nearest, 


The loved and lone acacia-tree — 


And when joys are dearest, 


The antelope, whose feet shall bless 


. Oh then remember me ! 


With their light sound thy loveliness. 



LOVELY MARY DONNELLY. 



265 



Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
An instant suusliine tlirough the heart — 
As if the soul that minute caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought ; 

As if the very lij^s and eyes 
Predestined to have all our sighs, 
And never be forgot again, 
Sparkled and spoke before us then ! 

So came thy every glance and tone. 
When first on me they breathed and shone; 
New as if brought from other spheres, 
Yet welcome as if loved for years. 

Then fly with me, — if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn 
Should ever in thy heai-t be worn ; 

Come," if the love thou hast for me 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee — 
Fresh as the fountain under ground. 
When fii-st 't is by the lapwing found. 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worshipped image from its base, 
To give to me the ruined place — 

Then, fare thee well ; I 'd rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so talse as thine ! 

Thomas Moore. 



L 



LOVELY MARY DONNELLY. 

0, LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it 's you I love 

the best ! 
If fifty girls were around you, I 'd hardly see 

the rest ; 
Be what it may the time of day, the place be 

where it will, 
Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom 

before me still. 

Her eyes like mountain water that 's flowing 

on a rock, 
Uow clear they are, how dark they are ! and 

they give me many a shock ; 
38 



Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted 

with a shower. 
Could ne'er express the charming lip that 

has me in its power. 

Her nose is straight and handsome, her eye- 
brows lifted up, 

Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth 
like a china cup ; 

Her hair 's the brag of Ireland, so weighty 
and so fine — 

It 's rolling down upon her neck, and gath- 
ered in a twine. 

The dance o' last Whit Monday night exceed- 
ed all before — 

No pretty girl for miles around was missing 
from the floor ; , 

But Mary kept the belt of love, and oh ! but 
she was gay; 

She danced a jig, she sung a song, and took 
my heart away ! 

When she stood up for dancing, her steps 

were so complete, 
The music nearly killed itself, to listen to her 

feet ; 
The fiddler mourned his blmdness, he heard 

her so much praised ; 
But blessed himself he wasn't deaf when 

once her voice she raised. 

And evermore I 'm whistling or lilting what 

you sung ; 
Your smile is always in my heart, your name 

beside ray tongue. 
But you've as many sweethearts as you'd 

count on both your hands. 
And for myself there 's not a thumb or Httle 

finger stands. 

Oh, you 're the flower of womankind, in coun- 
try or in town ; 

The higher I exalt you, the lower I 'lu cast 
down. 

If some great lord should come this way and 
see your beauty briglit, 

And you to be his lady, I 'd own it was but 
right. 



•Mft' 



266 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Oh. niiglit -we live togetlier in lofty palace 

liall 
Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet 

curtains fall ; 
Oh, might we live together iu a cottage mean 

and small, 
With sods of grass the only roof, and mud 

the only wall ! 

0, lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty 's my 

distress — 
It's far too beauteous to be mine, but I'll 

never wish it less ; 
The proudest place would fit your face, and 

I am poor and low, 
But blessings be about you, dear, wherever 



vou may go 



"William Allisgham. 



AN IRISH MELODY. 

" An, sweet Kitty Neil ! rise up from your 
wheel — 
Your neat little foot will be weary from 
spinning ; 
Come, trip down with me to the sycamore 
tree ; 
Half the parisli is there, and the dance is 
beginning. 
The sun is gone down ; but the fuU harvest 
moon 
Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-wLit- 
ened valley ; 
"While all the air rings with the soft, loving 
things 
Eacli little bird sings in tlie green shaded 
alley." 

Witli a blusb and a smile, Kitty rose up the 
while. 
Her eye in the glass, as she bound her 
hair, glancing; 
'Tis hard to refuse when a young lover 
sues. 
So she could n't but choose to — go off to 
the dancing. 
And now on the green the glad groups are 
seen — 
Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his 
choosing ; 



And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kittj 
Neil— 
Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought 
of refusing. 

Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to his 
knee, 
And, with flourish so free, sets each couple 
in motion ; 
With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter 
the ground — 
The maids move around just like swans on 
the ocean. 
Cheeks bright as the rose — feet light as the 
doe's — 
Now cozily retiring, now boldly advanc- 
ing; 
Search the world all around from the sky to 
the ground, 
No such sight can be found as an Irish lass 
dancing! 

Sweet Kate ! who could view your briglit 
eyes of deep blue. 
Beaming humidly through their dark lashes 
so mildly — 
Your fair-turned arm, heaving breast, rQund- 
ed form — 
Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses 
throb wildly? 
Poor Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, de- 
part, 
Subdued by the smart of such painful yet 
sweet love ; 
The sight leaves his eye as he cries with a 
sigh, 
"Dance light, for my heart it lies under 
your feet, love! " 

Denis Floeence M'CAETny. 



SONG. 



Love me if I live ! 

Love me if I die ! 
What to me is life or death, 

So that thou be nigh ? 

Once I loved thee rich. 
Now I love thee poor ; 

Ah ! what is there I could not 
For thy sake endure? 



THE WELCOME. 



267 



Kiss mc foi" my love ! 

Pay mc for my pain ! 
Come ! and murmur in my ear 

How thou lov'st again ! 

Barrt Cornwall. 



WERE I BUT HIS OWN" WIFE. 

Weke I but liis own wife, to guard and to 
guide him, 
'Tis little of sorrow should fall on my 
dear ; 
I 'd chant my low love verses, stealing beside 
him. 
So faint and so tender his heart would but 
hear ; 
I 'd pull the wild blossoms from valley and 
highland ; 
And there at his feet I would lay them all 
do\Tn ; 
I 'd sing him the songs of our poor stricken i 
island, 
Till his heart was on fire with a love like 
my own. 

There 's a rose by his dwelling — I 'd tend the 
lone treasure. 
That he might have flowers when the 
summer would come; 
There 's a harp in his hall — I would wake its 
sweet measure. 
For he must have music to brighten his 
home. 
Were I but his own wife, to guide and to 
guard him, 
'T is little of sorrow should fall on my 
dear ; 
For every kmd glance my whole life would 
award him — 
In sickness 1 'd soothe and in sadness I 'd 
cheer. 

My heart is a fount welling upward for 
ever — 
"When I think of my true-love, by night 
or by day; 
That heart keeps its faith like a fast-flowing 
river 
Which gushes for ever and sings on its 
way. 



I have thoughts full of peace for his soul to 

' repose in, 

Were I but his own wife, to win and to 

woo — 

Oh, sweet, if the night of misfortune were 

closing, 

To rise like the morning star, darling, for 

you ! 

Maky Downing. 



THE WELCOME. 

I. 

Come in the evening, or come in the morning — 
Come when you 're looked for, or come with- 
out warning ; 
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, 
And the often er you come here the more I '11 
adore you ! 
Light is my heart since the day we were 

plighted ; 
Eed is my cheek that they told me was 

blighted ; 
The green of the trees looks far greener 

than ever, 
And the linnets are singing, " True lovers 
don't sever ! " 



I '11 pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you 

choose them ! 
Or, after you 've kissed them, they '11 lie on 

my bosom ; 
I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to in- 
spire you ; 
I '11 fetch from my fancy a tale that won't 
the you. 
Oh ! yom- step 's like the rain to the summer- 
vexed farmer, 
Or sabre and shield to a knight without 

armor ; 
I '11 sing you sweet songs till the stars rise 

above me, 
Then, wandering, I '11 wish you in silence 
to love me. 

m. 
We '11 look through the trees at the cliff and 

the eyi'ie ; 
We 'U tread round the rath on the track of 

the fairy ; 



268 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



We 'II look on the stars, and we '11 list to the 

river, 
Till you ask of your darling wliat gift you 
can give her — 

Oh! she'll whisper you— "Love, as un- 
changeably beaming, 

And trust, when in secret, most tunefully 
streaming ; 

Till the starhght of heaven above us shall 
quiver. 

As our souls flow in one down eternity's 
river." 

IV. 

So come in the evening, or come in the morn- 

ino" • 
'"o 1 

Come when you 're looked for, or come with- 
out warning : 
Kisses and welcome you '11 find here before 

you, 
And the oftener you come here the more 
I '11 adore you ! 
Light is my heart since the day we were 

plighted ; 
Red is my cheek that they told me was 

blighted ; 
The green of the trees looks far greener 

than ever, 
And the hnnets are singing, "True lovers 
don't sever ! " 

TnoiiAS Dayis. 



COME INTO THE GAEDEN, MAUD. 

Come into the garden, Maud — 

For the black bat, night, has flown ! 

Come into the garden, Maud, 
I am here at the gate alone ; 

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. 
And the musk of the roses blown. 

For a breeze of morning moves, 
And the planet of love is on high. 

Beginning to faint in the light that she loves. 
On a bed of daffodil sky, 

To faint in the light of the sun that she loves, 



A]l night have the roses heai'd 
■ The flute, violin, bassoon ; • 
All night has the casement jessamine stirred 
To the dancers dancing in tune — 



Till a silence fell with the waking bird, 
And a hush witli the setting moon. 

I said to the lily, " There is but one 

With whom she has heart to be gay. 
When will the dancers leave her alone? 

She is weary of dance and play." 
ISToAV half to the setting moon are gone. 

And half to the ri&ing day ; 
Low on the sand and loud on the stone 

The last wheel echoes away. 

I said to the rose, " The brief night goes 

In babble and revel and wine. 
young lord-lover, what sighs are those, 

For one that will never be thine ! 
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, 

" For ever and ever, mine! " 

And the soul of the rose went into my blood, 
As the music clashed in the hall ; 

And long by the garden lake I stood, 
For I heard your rivulet fall 

From the lake to the meadow and on to the 
wood — 
Our wood, that is dearer than all — 

From the meadow your walks have left so 
sweet 

That whenever a March-wind sighs, 
He sets the jewel-print of your feet 

In violets blue as your eyes — 
To the woody hollows in which Ave meet, 

And the valleys of Paradise. 

The slender acacia would not shake 

One long milk-bloom on the tree; 
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, 

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; 
But the rose was awake all night for youi" 
sake. 

Knowing your promise to me ; 
The lihes and roses were all awake — 

They sighed for the dawn and thee. 

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of gWs, 
Come hither ! the dances are done ; 

In gloss of satin and glimmer of peai-ls, 
Queen lily and rose in one ; 

Shine out, little head, sunning over with 
curls, 
To the flowers, and be their sun. 



SUMMER DAYS. 



269 



There lias foUen a splendid tear 

From the passion-flower at the gate. 
She is coming, my dove, my dear. 

She is coming, my life, my fate ! 
The red rose cries, " She is near, she is near ; " 

And the white rose weeps, " She is late ; " 
Tlie larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear," 

And the lily whispers, " I wait." 

She is coming, my own, my sweet ! 

Were it ever so airy a tread, 
My heart would hear her and heat. 

Were it earth in an earthly bed ; 
My dust would hear her and beat. 

Had I lain for a century dead — 
Would start and tremble under her feet, 

And blossom in purple and red. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



SUMMER DAYS. 

In summer, when the days were long. 
We walked together in the wood: 
Our heart was light, our step was strong; 
Sweet flutterings were there in our blood, 
In summer, when the days were long. 

We strayed from morn till evening came ; 
We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns ; 
We walked mid poppies red as flame. 
Or sat upon the yellow downs ; 
And always wished our life the same. 

In summer, when the days were long, 
We leaped tlie hedgerow, crossed the brook : 
And still her voice flowed forth in song. 
Or else she read some graceful book. 
In summer, when the days were long. 

And then we sat beneath the trees, 
With shadows lessening in the noon ; 
And, in the sunlight and the breeze. 
We feasted, many a gorgeous June, 
WhUe larks were singing o'er the leas. 

In summer, when the days were long. 
On dainty chicken, snow-white bread, 
We feasted, with no grace but song; 
We plucked wild strawb'ries, ripe and red, 
In summer, when the days were long. 



We loved, and yet we knew it not — 
For loving seemed like breathing then ; 
We found a heaven in every spot ; 
Saw angels, too, in all good men ; 
And dreamed of God in grove and grot. 

In summer, when the days are long. 

Alone I wander, muse alone ; 

I see her not ; but that old song 

Under the fragrant wind is blown, 

In summer, when the days are long. 

• 
Alone I wander in the wood ; 

But one fair spirit hears my sighs ; 

And half I see, so glad and good, 

The honest dayliglit of her eyes. 

That charmed me under earlier skies. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
I love her as we loved of old ; 
My heart is light, my step is strong ; 
For love brings back those hours of gold. 
In summer, wlien the days are long, 

ANONTMOtIi 



EUTH. 

She stood breast high amid the com, 
Clasped by the golden light of morn, 
Like the sweetheart of the sun. 
Who many a glowing kiss had won- 

On her clieek an autumn flush 
Deeply ripened ; — such a blush 
In the midst of brown was born. 
Like red poppies grown with corn. 

Roimd her eyes her tresses fell — 
Which were blackest none could tell ; 
But long lashes veiled a light 
That had else been all too bright. 

And her hat, with shady brim. 
Made her tressy forehead dim ; — 
Thus she stood amid the stocks. 
Praising God with. sweetest looks. 

Sure, I said. Heaven did not mean 
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean ; 
Lay thy sheaf adown and come, 
Share ray harvest and my home, 

Thomas Hood 



270 



rOEMS OF LO\'E. 



AT THE CIIUEOH GATE. 

ALTHouGn I enter not, 
Yet round about the spot 

Ofttimes I hover ; 
iVnd near the sacred gate, 
With longhig eyes I wait, 

Expectant of her. 

The minster bell tolls out 
Above the city's rout, 

And noise and humming ; 
They 've hushed the minster bell : 
The organ 'gins to swell ; 

She 's coming, she 's coming ! 

My lady comes at last, 
Timid and stepping fast, 

And hastening hither, 
"With modest eyes downcast ; 
She comes — she 's here, she's past! 

May heaven go with her! 

Kneel undisturbed, fair saint ! 
Pour out your praise or plaint 

Meekly and duly ; 
I will not enter there. 
To sully your pure prayer 

With thoughts unruly. 

But suffer me to pace 
Round the forbi,ddcn place, 

Lingei-ing a minute, 
Like outcast spirits, who wait. 
And see, through heaven's gate. 

Angels within it. 

William IiIakepeaoe Thackeeay. 



SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE. 

Sue is a maid of artless grace. 
Gentle in form, and fair of face. 

Tell me, thou ancient mariner. 

That sailest on the sen. 
If ship, or sail, or evening star, 

Be half so fair as she ! 

Tell me, tliou gallant cavalier, 

Whose shin'ing arms I see, 
If steed, or sword, or battle-field. 

Be half so fair as she ! 



Tell me, thou swain that guard'st thy 
flock 
Beneath the shadowy tree. 
If flock, or vale, or mountain-ridge, 
Be half so fair as she ! 

Gil Vicente. (PortugueBC.) 
Translation of 11. W. Longfellow. 



SERENADE. 



An, sweet, thou little knowest how 

I wake and passionate watches keep ; 
And yet, while I address thee now, 

Mcthinks thou smilesc in thy sleep. 
'T is sweet enough to make me weep. 

That tender thought of love and thee. 
That while the world is hushed so deep. 

Thy soul 's perhaps awake to me ! 

n. 

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep! 

AYith golden visions for thy dower. 
While I this midnight vigil keep, 

And bless thee in thy silent bower; 
To me 't is sweeter than the power 

Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled. 
That I alone, at this still hour, 

In patient love outwatcli the world. 

TUOMAS IIOOD. 



SERENADE. 

Look out upon the stars, my love, 

And shame them with thine eyes, 
On which, than on the lights above, 

There hang more destinies. 
Night's beauty is the harmony 

Of blending shades and light: 
Then, lady, up, — look out, and be 

A sister to the night! — 

Sleep not! — thine image wakes for aye 

Within my watching breast ; 
Sleep not I — from her soft sleep should fly. 

Who robs all hearts of rest. 
Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break. 

And make this darkness gay, 
With looks whose brightness well might make 

Of darker nights a day. . 

Edward Coate Pinkket. 



SONGS. 



•271 



MY LOVE. 



XoT as all other women are 
Is she that to my soul is dear ; 
Her glorious fancies come from far, 
Beneath the silver evening-star ; 
And vet her heart is ever near. 



Great feelings hath she of her own, 
Which lesser souls may never know ; 
God giveth them to her alone. 
And sweet they are as any tone 
Wherewith the wind may choose to hlow. 



Yet in herself she dwelleth not, 
Although no home were half so fair ; 
No simplest duty is forgot ; 
Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
That doth not in her sunshine share. 



She doeth little kindnesses, 

Which most leave undone, or despise ; 

For naught that sets one heart at ease, 

And giveth happiness or peace, 

Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 



She hath no scorn of common things : 
And, though she seem of other birth. 
Round us her heart entwines and clings, 
And patiently she folds her wings 
To tread the humble paths of earth. 



Blessing she is ; God made her so ; 
And deeds of week-day holiness 
Fall from her noiseless as the snow ; 
Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
That ausht were easier than to bless. 



She is most fiiir, and thereunto 
Ilcr life doth rightly harmonize ; 
Feeling or thought that was not true 
Ne'er made less beautiful the blue 
Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 



She is a woman — one in whom 
The spring-time of her childish years 
Hath never lost its fresh perfume, 
Though knowing well that life hath room 
For many blights and many tears. 



I love her with a love as still 
As a broad river's peaceful might. 
Which, by high tower and lowly mill, 
Goes wandering at its ov/n will, 
And yet doth ever flow aright. 



And, on its full, deep breast serene, 

Like quiet isles my duties lie ; 

It flows around them and between. 

And makes them fresh and fair and green - 

Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 

James Kussell Loweiu 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

It is the miller's daughter. 

And she is grown so dear, so dear. 
That I would be the jewel 

That trembles at her ear ; 
For, hid in ringlets day and night, 
I 'd touch her neck so warm and white. 

And I would be the girdle 

About her dainty, dainty waist. 

And her heart would beat against me 
In sorrow and in rest ; 

And I should know if it beat right, 

I 'd clasp it round so close and tight. 

And I w^ould be the necklace. 
And all day long to fall and rise 

Upon her balmy bosom 

With her laughter or her sighs ; 

And I would lie so light, so light, 

I scarce should be unclasped at night. 



272 POEMS OF LOVE. 




'T is when he sings on some lone shore 


TfTR BROOK-SIDE. 


Where Echo's vocal spirits throng, 




Whose airy voices, o'er and o'er, 


I WANDERED by the brook-side, 


On still and moonlight lake prolong 


I wandei-ed by the mill ; 


One dear, loved, thrilling name. 


I conld not hear the brook flow — 


Anontmoto. 


The noisy wheel was still ; 
There was no burr of grasshopper, 






No chirp of any bird, 




But the beating of my own heart 


TO . 


Was all the sound I heard. 






Let other bards of angels sing, 


I sat beneath the elm-tree ; 


Bright suns without a spot ; 


I watched the long, long shade. 


But thou art no such perfect thing : 


And, as it grew still longer. 


Rejoice that thou art not ! 


I did not feel afraid ; 




For I listened for a footfall, 


Heed not though none should call thee fair ; 


I listened for a word — 


So, Mary, let it be. 


But the beating of my own heart 


If naught in loveliness compare 


Was all the sound I heard. 


With what thou art to me. 


He came not, — no, he came not — 


True beauty dwells in deep retreats. 


The night came on alone — 


Whose veil is unremoved 


The little stars sat one by one. 


Till heart with heart in concord beats. 


Each on his golden throne ; 


And the lover is beloved. 


Tlie evening wind passed by my cheek. 


"William WoEDSwoKTn. 


The leaves above were stirred — 




But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 






Fast silent tears were flowing, 


BALLAD. 


When something stood behind ; 




A hand was on my shoulder — 


I. 


I knew its touch was kind : 


It was not in the winter 


It drew me nearer — nearer, — 


Our loving lot was cast ; 


We did not speak one word, 


It was the time of roses, — 


For the beating of our own hearts 


We plucked them as we passed ! 


Was all the sound we heard. 




UlCHARD MONCKTON MiLNES. 


II. 




That churlish season never frowned 


♦ 


On early lovers yet ! 




Oh no — the world was newly crowned 


Oil! TELL ME, LOVE, THE DEAREST 


With flowers when first we met. 


HOUR. 






III. 


On ! tell me, love, the dearest hour 


'T was twilight, and I bade you go — 


The parted, anxious lover knows, — 


But still you held me fast ; 


When passion, with enchanter's power. 


It was the time of roses, — 


Across his faithful memory throws 


We plucked them as we passed ! 


Its softest, brightest flame. 


Thomas Hood. 



SONGS. 



THE POETRAIT. 

CoMK, thou best of painters, 
Prince of the Ehodian art; 

Paint, thou best of painters, 
The mistress of my heart — 

Though absent — from the picture 
Which I shall now impart. 

First paint for me her ringlets 
Of dark and glossy hue. 

And fragrant odors breathing — 
If this thine art can do. 

Paint me an ivory forehead 
That crowns a perfect cheek, 

And rises under ringlets 
Dark-colored, soft, and sleek. 

The space between the eyebrows 
ISTor mingle nor dispart. 

But blend them imperceptibly 
And true Avill be thy art. 

From under black-eye fringes 
Let sunny Hashes play — 

Cythera's swimming glances, 
Minerva's azure ray. 

With milk commingle roses 
To paint a nose and cheeks — 

A lip like bland persuasion's — 
A lip that kissing seeks. 

Within the chin luxurious 

Let all the graces fair. 
Round neck of alabaster. 

Be ever flitting there. 

And now in robes invest her 

Of palest purple dyes. 
Betraying fair proportions 

To our delighted eyes. 

Cease, cease, I see before me 
The picture of my choice ! 

Aiul quickly wilt thou give me — 
The nmsic of thy voice. 

Anacreon. (Greek.) 
Trauslation of William Hat. 

39 



A HEALTH. 

I FILL this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon ; 
To whom the better elements 

And kindly stars have given 
A form so fair, that, like the air, 

'T is less of earth than heaven. 

Her every tone is music's own, 

Like those of morning birds. 
And something more than melody 

Dwells ever in her words ; 
The coinage of her heart are they. 

And from her lips each flows 
As one may see the burdened bee 

Forth issue from the rose. 

Affections are as thoughts to her, 

The measures of her hours ; 
Her feelings have the fragrancy. 

The freshness of young flowers ; 
And lovely passions, changing oft, 

So fill her, she appears 
The image of themselves by turns. — 

The idol of past years ! 

Of her bright face one glance will trace 

A picture on the brain, 
And of her voice in echoing hearts 

A sound must long remain ; 
But memory, such as mine of her. 

So very much endears, 
When death is nigh my latest sigh 

Will not be life's, but hers. 

I fill this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon — 
Her health ! and would on earth there 
stood 

Some more of such a frame, 
That life might be all poetry, 

And weariness a name. 

Edward Coate Pisknby. 



27-1 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



LOVE SONG. 

8wEET in her green dell the flower of beauty 

slumbers, 
Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through 

her hair ! 
Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy 

numbei's 
Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air ! 

Down from the high clifts the rivulet is 

teeming 
To wind ronnd the willow banks that lure 

him from above ; 
Oh that, in tears, from my rocky prison 

streaming, 
I, too, could glide to the bower of my love ! 

Ah, where the woodbines, with sleepy arms, 

have wound her. 
Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay, 
Listening, like the dove, while the fountains 

echo round her, 
To her lost mate's call in the forests far away ! 

Come, then, my bird ! for tlie peace thou 

ever bearest. 
Still heaven's messenger of comfort to me — 
Come ! this fond bosom, my faithfulest, my 

fairest, 
Bleeds with its death-wound — but deeper 

yet for thee ! 

Geokgb Daklet. 



SYLVIA. 

[ 'vE taught thee love's sweet lesson o'er — 

A task that is not learned with tears : 
Was Sylvia e'er so blest before 
In her wild, solitary years ? 

Then what does he deserve, the youth 
Who made her con so dear a truth ? 

Till now in silent vales to roam. 

Singing vain songs to heedless flowers. 
Or watch the dashing billows foam. 
Amid thy lonely myrtle bowers — 

To weave light crowns of various hue — 
Were all tho joys thy bosom knew. 



The wild bird, though most musical, 

Could not to thy sweet plaint reply ; 
The streamlet, and the waterfall. 

Could only weep when thou didst sigh I 
Thou couldst not change one dulcet word 
Either with billow, or with bird. 

For leaves and flowers, but these alone, 
Winds have a soft, discoursing way; 
Heaven's starry talk is all its own, — 
It dies in thunder far away. 

E'en when thou wouldst the moon be- 
guile 
To speak, — she only deigns to smile ! 

Now, birds and winds, be churlish still ! 

Ye waters, keep your sullen roar ! 
Stars, be as distant as ye will, — 
Sylvia need court ye now no more : 
In love there is society 
She never yet could find with ye ! 

Geokge Darlev. 



EOSALIE. 

Oh, pour upon my soul again 
That sad, unearthly strain. 

That seems from other Avorlds to plain ; 

Thus falling, falling from afar. 

As if some melancholy star 

Had mingled with her light her sighs, 
And dropped them from the skies. 

No — never came from aught below 

This melody of woe. 
That makes my heart to overflow, 
As from a thousand gushing springs 
Unknown before ; that with it brings 
This nameless light — if light it be — 

That veils the world I see. 

For all I see around me wears 
The hue of other spheres ; 
And something blent of smiles and tears 
Comes from the very air I breathe. 
Oh, nothing, sure, the stars beneath, 
Can mould a sadness like to this — 
So like angelic bliss. 



SONGS. 



276 



So, at that dreamy hour of day, 
When the last lingering ray 

Stops on the highest cloud to play — 

So thought the gentle Rosalie 

As on her maiden revery 

First fell the strain of him who stole 
In music to her soul. 

"Washington Allston. 



SONG. 



SiXG the old song, amid the sounds dispers- 
ing 
That burden treasured in your hearts too 
long; 
Sing it with voice low-bi*eathed, but 
never name her : 
She will not hear you, in her turrets nursing 
High thoughts, too high to mate with mor- 
tal song — 
Bend o'er her, gentle heaven, but do 
not claim her ! 



In twilight caves, and secret lonelinesses. 
She shades the bloom of her unearthly 
days ;— 
Tlie forest winds alone approach to woo 
her. 
Far otf we catch the dark gleam of her 
tresses ; 
And wild birds haunt the wood-walks 
where she strays, 
Intelliii'ible music warbling to her. 



That spirit charged to follow and defend her, 
lie also, doubtless, sufters this love-pain ; 
And she perhaps is sad, hearing his 
sighing. 
A.nd yet that face is not so sad as tender ; 
Like some sweet singer's, when her sweet- 
est strain 
From the heaved heart is gradually 
dying ! 

AUBRET DE VkBB. 



THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION. 

Lone upon a mountain, the pine-trees wailing 
round him, 
Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youtli 
is laid ; 
Sleep, mystic sleep, for many a year has 
bound him. 
Yet his beauty, like a statue's, pale and 
fair, is undecayed. 

When Avill he awaken ? 

AVhen will he awaken ? a loud voice hath 
been crying, 
Night after night, and the cry has been in 
vain ; 
Winds, woods, and waves found echoes for 
replying. 
But the tones of the beloved one were 
never heard again. 

When will he awaken ? 
Asked the midnight's silver queen. 

Never mortal eye has looked upon his sleeping ; 
Parents, kindred, comrades, have mourned 
for him as dead ; 
By day the gathered clouds have had him in 
their keeping, 
And at night the solemn shadows round 
his rest are shed. 

Wlien will he awaken ? 

Long has been the cry of faithful love's im- 
ploring ; 
Long has hope been watching with soft 
eyes fixed above ; 
When will the fates, the life of life restoring, 
Own themselves vanquished by much- 
enduring love? 

When will he awaken ? 
Asks the midnight's weary queen. 

Beautiful the sleep that she has watched un- 
tiring, 
Lighted up with visions from yonder ra- 
diant sky. 
Full of an immortal's glorious inspiring. 
Softened by tlie woman's meek and loving 
sigh. 

When will he awaken? 



270 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



He has been dreaming of old heroic stories, 
And tlie poet's piisriionate world has entered 
in his soul ; 
He has grown conscious of life's ancestral 

glories, 
When sages and when kings first upheld the 
mind's control. 

"When will he awaken ? 
Asks the midiiiglit's stately queen. 

Lo, the appointed midnight ! the present liour 
is fated ! 
It is Endymiou's ])lanct that rises on tiie 
air; 
How long, how tenderly his goddess-love has 
waited, 
Waited with a love too mighty for despair! 
Soon he will awaken. 

Soft dmid tlie pines is a sound as if of sing- 

Tones that seem the lute's froih the breatli- 
ing flowers depart ; 
Not a wind that wanders o'er Mount Latmos 
hut is bringing 
Music tliat is murnnn-ed from nature's in- 
most heart. 

Soon ho will awaken 
To his and midnight's queen ! 

Lovely is tlie green earth, — she knows the 
hour is holy ; 
Starry are tlie heavens, lit with eternal 

joy; 

Light like their own is dawning sweet and 
slowly 
O'er the fair and sculptured forehead of 
that yet dreaming boy. 

Soon he will awaken ! 

Red as the red rose towards the morning 
turning. 
Warms the youth's lip to the watcher's 
near his own ; 
Wliile tlie dark eyes ojten, l)right, intense, 
and burning 
Witli a life more glorious than, ere they 
closed, was known. 

Yes, he has awakened 
For the midi.iglil's liappy queen 1 



What is this old history, but a lesson given, 
How true love still conquers by the deeiJ 
strength of truth — 
How all the iinj)ulses, wliose native home is 
heaven, 
Sanctify the visions ot hope, and faith, and 
youth ? 

'T is for such they waken I 

When every worldly thought is utterly for- 
saken, 
Comes the starry midnight, felt by life's 
gifted few ; 
Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep 
awaken 
To a being more intense, more spiritnal, 
and true. 

So doth the soul awaken, 
Like that youth to night's fair queen ! 

L.ETITIA Elizabeth Landox. 



SONG. 



Day, in melting purple dying ; 
Blossoms, all around me sighing ; 
Fragrance, from the lilies straying; 
Zephyr, with my ringlets playing ; 

Ye but waken my distress; 

I am sick of loneliness i 

Thou, to whom I love to hearken, 
Come, ere night around me darken; 
Though thy softness but deceive me, 
Say thou 'rt true, and I '11 believe thee ; 

Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent. 

Let me think it innocent ! 

Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure ; ■ 
All I ask is friendshiji's pleasure ; 
Let the shining ore lie darkling — 
Bring no gem in lustre sparkling ; 

Gifts and gold are naught to mo 
I would only look on thee ! 

Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling. 

Ecstasy but in i-evealing ; 

Paint to thee the deep sensation, 

Rapture in participation ; 

Yet but torture, if cornprest 
In a lone, unfriended breast. 



SONGS. 



277 



Absent still ! Ah 1 come and bless me I 
Let these eyes again caress thee. 
Once in caution, I could fly thee ; 
Xow, I notiiing could deny thee. 
In a look if death there be, 
Come, and I will gaze on thee ! 

Mabia. Beooks. 



ABSENCE. 

What shall I do with all the days and hours 
That must be counted ere I see thy face ? 

How shall I charm the interval that lowers 
Between this time and that sweet time of 
grace ? 

Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense — 
"Weary with longing ? Shall I flee away 

Into past days, and with some fond pretence 
Cheat myself to furget the present day ? 

Sliall love for thee lay on ray soul the sin 
Of casting from me God's great gift of 
time ? 
•Sliall I, these mists of memory locked with- 
in. 
Leave and forget life's purposes sublime? 

Oh, how, or by wliat means, may I contrive 
To bring the liour that brings tliee back 
more near ? 

How may I teach my drooping hope to live 
Until tliat blessed time, and thou art here? 

[ '11 tell thee ; for thy sake I will lay hold 
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, 

In worthy deeds, each moment that is told 
While thou, beloved one! art f;ir from 
me. 

For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try 
All heavenward flights, all high and holy 
strains ; 
For thy dear sake I will walk patiently 
Tlirough these long hours, nor call their 
minutes pains. 



I will this dreary blank of absence make 
A noble task-time ; and will therein strive 

To follow excellence, and to o'ertake 

More good than I liave won since yet I live 

So may this doomed time build up in me 
A thousand graces, which shall thus ho 
thine ; 
So may my love and longing hallowed be, 
And tliy dear thought an influence divine. 
i'uANCKS Anne Kemulh. 



THE GROOMSMAN TO HIS MISTRESS 



Every wedding, says the proverb, 
IMakes another, soon or late ; 

Never yet was any marriage 
Entered in the book of fate. 

But the names were also written 
Of the patient pair that wait. 



Blessings then upon the morning 
When my friend, with fondest look, 

By the solemn rites' permission. 
To himself his mistress took, 

And the destinies recorded 
Other two within their book. 



While the priest fulfilled his office. 
Still the ground the lovers eyed, 

And the parents and the kinsmen 
Aimed their glances at the bride ; 

But the groomsmen eyed the virgins 
Who were waiting at her side. 



Three there v/ere that stood beside her ; 

One was dark, and one was fair ; 
But nor fair nor dark the other, 

Save her Arab eyes and hair; 
Neither dark nor fair I call her. 

Yet she was the fairest there. 



278 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



"While lier groomsman — sliall I own it ? 

Yes to thee, and only thee — 
Gazed npon this dark-eyed maiden 

Who was fairest of the'three, 
Thus he thought : " How blest the bridal 

Where the bride were such as she ! " 



Tlien I mnsed upon the adage, 
Till my wisdom was peri^lexed, 

And I wondered, as the churchman 
Dwelt upon his holy text, 

Which of all who heard his lesson 
Should reqiiire the service next. 



Whose will be the next occasion 
For the flowers, the feast, the wine ? 

Thine, perchance, my dearest lady ; 
Or, who knows? — it may be mine. 

What if 't were — forgive the fancy — 
What if 't were — both mine and thine? 

Thomas William Parsons. 



SOiVG. 



How delicious is the winning 
Of a kiss at love's beginning. 
When two mutual hearts are sighing 
For the knot there 's no untying ! 

Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing, 
Love has bliss, but love has rueing ; 
Other smiles may make you fickle. 
Tears for other charms may trickle. 

Love he comes, and Love he tarries, 
Just as fate our fancy carries ; 
Longest stays when sorest chidden; 
Laughs and flies when pressed and bidden. 

Bind the sea to slumber stilly, 
Bind its odor to the lily. 
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver. 
Then bind love to last forever ! 

Thomas Campisell. 



THE CHEONIOLE. 



A BALLAD. 



Margaeita first possessed. 

If I remember well, my breast, 

Margarita first of all ; 
But Avhen awhile the wanton maid 
With my restless heart had played, 

Martha took the fljdng ball. 

Martha soon did it resign 
To the beauteous Cathai-ine. 

Beauteous Catharine gave place 
(Though loth and angry she to part 
With the possession of my heart) 

To Eliza's conquering face. 

Eliza till this hour might reign. 
Had she not evU counsels ta'en ; 

Fundamental laws she broke. 
And still new favorites she chose. 
Till up in arms my passions rose. 

And cast away her yoke. 

Mary then, and gentle Anne, 
Both to reign at once began ; 

Alternately they swayed ; 
And sometimes Mary was the fair. 
And sometimes Anne the crown did wear, 

And sometimes both I obeyed. 

Another Mary then arose, 
And did rigorous laws impose ; 

A mighty tyrant she i 
Long, alas ! should I have been 
Under that iron-sceptred queen, 

Had not Rebecca set me free. 

When fair Eebecca set me free, 
'T was then a golden time with me: 

But soon those pleasures fled ; 
For the gracious princess died 
Li her youth and beauty's pride, 

And Judith reigned in her stead. 

One month, three days, and half an hour, 
Judith held the sovereign power : 

Wondrous beautiful her face ! 
But so weak and small her wit. 
That she to govern was unfit. 

And so Susanna took her place. 



THE NUN, 



279 



But when Isabella came, 
Armed with a resistless flame, 

And the artillery of her eye, 
"Whilst she proudly marched about, 
Greater conquests to find out, 

Si 10 beat out Susan by the bye. 

But in her place I then obeyed 
Black-eyed Bess, her viceroy-maid, 

To whom ensued a vacancy : 
Thousand worse passions then possessed 
The interregnum of my breast ; 

Bless mc from such an anarchy ! 

Gentle Hem-ictta then. 

And a third Mary next began ; 

Then Joan, and Jane, and Andria ; 
And then a pretty Thomasine, 
And then another Catharine, 

And then a long et catera. 

But sliould I now to you relate 

The strength and riches of their state ; 

The powder, patches, and the pins. 
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings. 
The lace, the paint, and warlike things, 

That make up all their magazines ; 

If I should tell the politic arts 
To take and keep men's hearts ; 

The lettei's, embassies, and spies, 
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries, 
The quarrels, tears, and perjuries 

(Numberless, nameless mysteries !) 

And all the little lime-twigs laid 
By Machiavel the waiting-maid — 

I more voluminous should grow 
(Chiefly if I like them should tell 
All change of weathers that befell) 

Than Ilolinshed or Stow. 

But I will briefer with them be, 
Since few of them were long with me. 

An higher and a nobler strain 
My present emperess does claim, 
Ilolconora, first of the name ; 

Whom God grant long to reign ! 

Abeaham Cowtet. 



THE NUK 



If you becoriie a nun, dear, 

A friar I will be ; 
In any cell you run, dear. 

Pray look behind for me. 
The roses aU turn pale, too ; 
The doves all take the veil, too ; 

The blind will see the show : 
"What ! you become a mm, my dear ? 

I '11 not believe it, no ! 



If you become a nun, dear. 

The bishop Love will be ; 
The Cupids every one, dear, 

Will chant, "We trust in thee ! " 
The incense will go sighing. 
The candles fall a dying, 

The water turn to wine : 
What ! you go take the vows, my dear \ 

You may — but they 'U be mine. 

Leigh IIitnt. 



CRABBED AGE KST) YOUTH. 

Crabbed age and youth 

Cannot live together : 
Youth is full of pleasance, 

Age 'is full of care ; 
Youth like summer morn. 

Age like winter weather ; 
Youth hke summer brave, 

Age like winter bare. 
Youth is full of sport. 
Age's breath is short ; 

Youth is nimble, age is lame ; 
Youth is hot and bold. 
Age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee. 
Youth, I do adore thee ; 

0, my love, my love is young ! 
Age, I do defy thee ; 
0, sweet shepherd ! hie thee, 

For methinks thou stay'st too long. 
Shakespeaee. 



280 



POEMS OF LOVE, 



THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. 

Gesteel in personage, 
Conduct and equipage ; 
Noble by lieritagc ; 

Generous and fi'ee ; 

Brave, not romantic ; 
Learned, not pedantic; 
Frolic, not frantic — 
This must he be. 

Honor maintaining, 
Meanness disdaining. 
Still entertaining, 

Engaging and new ; 

Neat, but not finical ; 
Sage, but not cynical ; 
Never tyrannical. 
But ever true. 



Anontmotis. 



THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. 

Shall I, wasting in despair. 
Die because a woman 's fair ? 
Or make pale my cheeks with care, 
'Cause another's rosy are ? 
Be she fairer than the day, 
Or the flowery meads in May — 
If she be not so to me, 
"What care I how fair she be ? 

Shall my foolish heart be pined 
'Cause I see a woman kind ? 
Or a well-disposed nature 
Joined with a lovely feature ? 
Be she meeker, kinder, than 
The turtle dove or pelican — 
If she be not so to me. 
What care I how kind she be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 
Or, her well descrs-ings known, 
Make me quite forget mine own? 
Be she with that goodness blest, 
"Which may merit name of best, 
If she be not such to me, 
"What care I how good she be ? 



'Cause her fortune seems too high. 
Shall I play the fool and die ? 
Those that bear a noble mind 
Where they want of riches find, 
Think what with them they would do 
That without them dare to woo ; 
And unless that mind I see. 
What care I how great she be ? 

Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 
I win ne'er the more despair : 
If she love me, this believe— 
I wiU die ere she shall grieve. 
If she slight me when I woo, 
I can scorn and let her go ; 
For if she be not for me. 
What care I for whom she be? 

George "Wither. 



SONG. 



Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 

Pr'y thee, why so pale? — 
Will, when looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail ? 

Pr'y thee, why so pale ? 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner ? 

Pr'y thee, why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win hef, 

Saying nothing do't? 

Pr'y thee, why so mute ? 

Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move. 

This cannot take her — 
If of herself she will not love, 

Nothing can make her : 

The devil take her ! 

SiK JonN Suckling. 



FLY NOT YET. 

Fly not yet — 't is just the hour 
When pleasure, like the midnight flower, 
That scorns the eye of vulgar light. 
Begins to bloom for sons of night. 

And maids who love the moon ! 
'T was but to bless these hours of shade 
That beauty and the moon were made ; 



SONGS. 281 


'T is then their soft attractions glowing 




Sot the tides and goblets flowing ! 


THE CHEAT OF CUPID; 


Oh ! stay, — oh ! stay, — 




Joy so seldom weaves a chain 


OR, TUE TJNGEXTLE GUEST. 


Like this to-night, that oh ! 't is pain 




To break its links so soon. 


One silent night of late, 




When every creature rested. 


Fly not yet ! the fount that played, 


Came one unto my gate, 


In times of old, through Amnion's shade, 


And, knocking, me molested. 


Though icy cold by day it ran. 




Yet still, like sounds of mirth, began 


Who 's there, said I, beats there, 


To bui-n when night was near ; 


1 ' ' 

And troubles thus the sleepy ? 


And thus should woman's heart and looks 


Cast off, said he, all fear. 


At noon be cold as winter-brooks. 


And let not locks thus keep thee. 


Nor kindle till the night, returning. 




Brings their genial hour for burning. 


For I a boy am, who 


Oh! stay, — oh! stay, — 


By moonless nights liave swerved ; 


When did morning ever break 


And all with showers wet through, 


And find such beaming eyes awake 


Aufl e'en with cold half starved. 


As those that sparkle here ! 




TnOMA8 MOOKE. 


I, pitiful, arose, 




And soon a taper lighted ; 






And did myself disclose 


DECEITFULNESS OF LOVE. 


Unto the lad benighted. 


Go, sit by the summer sea. 




Thou whom scorn wasteth. 


I saw he had a bow, 


And let thy musing be 
Where the flood hasteth. 


And wings, too, which did shiver ; 


And, looking down below. 


Mark how o'er ocean's breast 


I spied he had a quiver. 


Rolls the hoar billow's crest ; 




Such is his heart's unrest, 


I to niy chimney's shrine 


Who of love tasteth. 


Brought him, as Love professes, 




And chafed his hands with mine. 


Griev'st thou that hearts should change ? 


And dried his di-ipping tresses. 


Lo ! where life reigneth. 




Or the free sight doth range. 


But when that he felt wanned : 


What long remainethi ? 


Let 's try this bow of ours. 


Spring with her flowers doth die ; 


And string, if they be harmed, 


Fast fades the gilded sky ; 


Said he, with these late showers. 


And the full moon on high , 




Ceaselessly waneth. 


Forthwith his bow he bent. 




And wedded string and arrow, 


Smile, then, ye sage and wise ; 


And struck me, that it went 


And if love sever 


Quite through my heart and marrow. 


Bonds which thy soul doth pi-ize, 




Such does it ever ! 


Then, laughing loud, he flew 


Deep as the rolling seas. 


Away, and thus said flying : 


Soft as the twilight breeze, 


Adieu, mine host, adieu ! 


But of more than these 


I '11 leave tliy heart a-dying. 


Boast could it never ! 


AsACREOK. (Greek.) 


AXOXTMOUS. 

40 


Translation of Kobert IIekrick. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



IF I DESIRE WITH PLEASANT SONGS. 

If I desire with pleasant songs 
To throw a merry hour away, 

Comes Love unto me, and my wrongs 
In careful tale he doth display, 

And asks me how I stand for singin^g, 

While I my helpless hands am wringing. 

And then another time, if I 
A noon, in shady bower would pass, 

Comes he with stealthy gestures sly. 
And flinging down upon the grass. 

Quoth he to me : My master dear. 

Think of this noontide such a year ! 

And if elsewhile I lay my head 

On pillow, with intent to sleep. 
Lies Love beside me on the bed. 

And gives me ancient words to keep ; 
Says he: These looks, these tokens num- 
ber- 
May be, they '11 help you to a slumber. 

So every time when I would yield 
An hour to quiet, comes he still ; 

And hunts up every sign concealed. 
And every outward sign of ill ; 

And gives me his sad face's pleasures 

For merriment's, or sleep's, or leisure's. 

Thomas Bukbidge. 



THE ANNOYEPw 

Love knowcth every form of air, 

And every shape of earth. 
And comes unbidden everywhere, 

Like thouglit's mysterious birth. 
The moonlit sea and the sunset sky 

Are written with Love's words, 
And you hear his voice unceasingly, 

Like song in the time of birds. 

He peeps into the warrior's heart 

From the tip of a stooping plume. 
And the serried spears, and the many men 

May not deny him room. 
He '11 come to his tent in the weary night, 

And be busy in his dream. 
And he '11 float to his eye in the morning light, 

Like a fay on a silver beam. 



He hears the sound of the hunter's gun, 

And rides on the echo back, 
And sighs in his ear like a stirring leaf, 

And flits in his woodland track. 
The shade of the wood, and the sheen of the 
river. 

The cloud and the open sky, — 
He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver. 

Like the light of your very eye. 

The fisher hangs over the leaning boat. 

And ponders the silver sea. 
For Love is under the surface hid. 

And a spell of thought has he. 
He heaves the wave like a bosom sweet, 

And speaks in the ripple low, 
Till the bait is gone from the crafty line, 

And the hook hangs bare below. 

He blurs the print of the scholar's book, 

And intrudes in the maiden's prayer, 
And profanes the cell of the holy man 

In the shape of a lady fair. 
In the darkest night, and the bright daylight, 

In earth, and sea, and sky. 
In every home of human thought 

Will Love be lurking nigh. 

Natiiakiel Parker "Willis. 



THE DOLE'S I' THIS BONNET 0' MINE. 

The dule 's i' this bonnet o' mine : 

My ribbins '11 never be reet ; 
Here, Mally, aw 'm like to be tine, 

For Jamie '11 be comin' to-nset ; 
He met me i' th' lone t'other day 

(Aw wur gooin' for waj'ter to th' well), 
An' he begged that aw' d wed him i' May, 

Bi th' mass, if he '11 let me, aw will ! 

When he took my two bonds into his. 

Good Lord, heaw they trembled between ! 
An' aw dur.stn't look up in his face, 

Becose on him seein' my e'en. 
My cheek went as red as a rose ; 

There 's never a mortal con tell 
Heaw happy aw felt— for, thae knows, 

One couldn't ha' axed him theirsel'. 

But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung : 
To let it eawt wouldn't be reet, 



SONGS. 



283 



For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung ; 

So aw towd him aw 'd tell hira to-ueet. 
But, JNIally, thae kuows very weel, 

Though it isn't a thing one should own, 
Iv aw'd th' pikein' o' th' world to mysel', 

Aw 'd oather ha' Jamie or noan. 

Ncaw, Mally, aw 've towd thae my mind ; 

What would to do iv it wur thee? 
" Aw'd tak him just while he 'se inclined, 

An' a tarrantly bargain he '11 be ; 
For Jamie 's as greadly a lad 

As ever stept eawt into th' sun. 
Go, jump at thy chance, an' get wed; 

An' mak th' best o' th' job when it 's done ! " 

Eh, dear! but it's time to be gwon: 

Aw shouldn't like Jamie to wait ; 
Aw connut for shame be too soon, 

An' aw wouldn't for th' wuld be too late. 
Aw 'm o' ov a tremble to th' heel : 

Dost think 'at my bonnet '11 do? 
" Be oif, lass — thae looks very weel ; 

He wants noan o' th' bonnet, thae foo ! " 

Edwin "Waugh. 



EOEY O'MOEE; 

OE, GOOD OMENS. 
I. 

Young Rory O'More courted Kathleen bawn ; 
lie was bold as the hawk, and she soft as the 

dawn ; 
lie wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to 

please. 
And he thought the best way to do that was 

to tease. 
" Now, Eory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen woidd 

Ecproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye — 
" With your tricks, I don't know, in throth, 

what I'm about ; 
Faith you've teazed till I 've put on my cloak 

inside out." 
"Och! jewel," saj's Eory, "that same is the 

way 
You 've thratcd my heart for this many a day ; 
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to 

be sure ? 
For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Eory 

O'More. 



"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, " do n't think 

of the like, 
For I half gave a jn-omise to soothering 

Mike ; 
The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be 

bound " — 
" Faith ! " says Eory, " I'd rather love you 

than the ground." 
"Now, Eory, I'U cry if you don't let me go ; 
Sure I dream €^''ry night that I'm hating you 

so!" 
" Och ! " says Eory, " that same I 'm delighted 

to hear, 
For dhrames always go by conthraries, my 

dear. 
Och ! jewel, keep dhraming that same till 

you die, 
And bright morning will give dirty night the 

black lie ! 
And 't is plazed that I am, and why not, to 

be sure ? 
Since 't is all for good luck," says bold Eory 

O'More. 



" Arrah, Kathleen, my. darlint, you've teazed 

me enough ; 
Sure I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny 

Grimes and Jim Duff ; 
And I 've made myself, drinking your health, 

quite a baste. 
So I think, after that, I may talk to the 

priest." 
Then Eory, the rogue, stole his arm round 

her neck. 
So soft and so white, without freckle or 

speck ; 
And he looked in her eyes, that were beam- 
ing with light. 
And he kissed her sweet lips — do n't you think 

he was right ? 
"Now Eory, leave off, sir — you'll hug me 

no more — 
That 's eight times to-day you have kissed me 

before." 
"Then here goes another," says he, "to make 

sure. 
For there 's luck in odd numbers," says Eory 

O'More. 

Samitel Lover. 



2S4 



POEMS OF LOVE, 



COMING THROUGH THE RYE. 

Gix a body meet a body 

Oomia' tlirougb the rye, 
Gin a body kiss a body, 

Need a body cry ? 
Every lassie lias her laddie — 

Ne'er a ane hae I ; 
Yet a' the lads they smile at me 

"When comin' through the rye. 
Amaiig the train there is a sicam 

I dearly We myseV ; 
But lohaur his hame^ or what his name^ 
I dinna care to tell. 

Gin a body meet a body 

Comin' frae the town. 
Gin a body greet a body, 

Need a body frown ? 
Every lassie has her laddie — 

Ne'er a ane hae I ; 
Yet a' the lads they smile at me 

When comin' through the rye. 
Amang the train there is a swain 

I dearly We myseV ; 
But lohaur his hame., or ichat his name, 

I dinna care to tell. 

Anonymous. 



MOLLY OAREW. 

0(;ii hone ! and what will I do ? 
Sure my love is all crost, 
Like a bud in tlie frost ; 
And there 's no use at all in my going to bed, 
For 't is dhrames and not sleep that comes 
into my head ; 
And 't is all about you, 
My sweet Molly Carew — 
And indeed 't is a sin and a shame! 
You 're oomplater than nature 
In every feature ; 
The snow can 't compare 
"With your forehead so fair ; 
And I rather would see just one blink of your 

eye 
Than the prettiest star that shines out of the 
sky; 
And by this and by that, 
For the matter o' that, 



You 're more distant by far than that same I 
Oehhone! weirasthru! 
I 'm alone in this world without you. 

Och hone ! but why should I spake 
Of your forehead and eyes, 
When your nose it defies 
Paddy Blake, the schoolmaster, to put it in 

rhyme ; 
TIio' there 's one Burke, he says, that would 
call it snublime. 
And then for your cheek. 
Troth 't would take him a week 
Its beauties to tell, as he 'd rather ; 
Then your lips ! oh, machree ! 

In their beautiful glow 
They a pattern might be 
For the cherries to grow. 
'T was an apple that tempted our mother, we 

know, 
For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago ; 
But at this time o' day, 
'Pon my conscience I 'II say, 
Such cherries might tempt a man's fother! 
Oehhone! weirastliru! 
I 'm alone in this world without you. 

Och hone ! by the man in the moon. 
You taze me all ways 
That a woman can plaze, 
For you dance twice as high with that thief, 

Pat Magee, 
As when you take share of a jig, dear, witli 
me. • 

Tlio' the piper I bate. 
For fear the old cheat 
Would n't play you your favorite tune. 
And when you 're at mass 
My devotion you crass, 
For 't is thinking of you 
I am, Molly Cai'ew. 
While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep 
That I can 't at your sweet pretty face get a 
peep. 
Oh, lave off that bonnet. 
Or else I '11 lave on it 
Tlie loss of my wandering sowl I 

Oehhone! weirasthru! 
Och hone ! like an owl. 
Day is night, dear, to me without 
you! 



SONGS. 



285 



Och hone ! do n't provoke me to do it ; 
For there 's girls hy the score 
That loves me — and more ; 
And you 'd look very qnare if some morning 

you 'd meet 
My ■wedding all marching in pride down tlie 
street ; 
Troth, you 'd open your eyes, 
And you 'd die witli surprise 
To think 't was n't you was come to it ! 
And faith, Katty Naile, 
And her cow, I go hail, 
Would jump if I 'd say, 
" Katty Naile, name the day ; " 
And tho' you 're fair and fresh as a morning 

in May, 
While she 's short and dark like a cold win- 
ter's day. 
Yet if you do n't repent 
Before Easter, when Lent 
Is over, I '11 marry for spite, 
Och hone ! weirasthru ! 
And when I die for you, 
My ghost will haunt you every night. 

Samuel Lover. 



WIDOW MACHREE. 



Widow machree, it 's no wonder you frown — 

Och hone ! widow machree ; 
Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty 
hlack gown — 
Och hone ! widow machree. 
How altered your air, 
With that close cap you wear — 
'T is destroying your hair. 

Which should be flowing free : 
Be no longer a churl 
Of its hlack silken curl — 
Och hone! widow machree ! 



Widow machree, now the summer is come — 
Och hone! widow machree ! 

When every thing smiles, should a beauty 
look glum ? 
Och hone ! widow machree ! 



See the birds go in pairs. 
And the rabbits and hares — 
Why, even the bears 

Wow in couples agree ; 
And the mute little fish, 
Though they can 't spake, they wish- 

Och hone ! widow machree. 



Widow machree, and when winter comes in- 

Och hone ! widow machree — 
To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, 

Och hone! widow machree. 
Sure the shovel and tongs 
To each other belongs. 
And the kettle sings songs 

Full of family glee ; 
While alone with your cup, 
Like a hermit you sup, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 



And how do you know, with the comforts 
I 've towld — 
Och hone ! widow machree — 
But you 're keeping some poor fellow out in 
the cowld, 
Och hone ! widow machree ! 
With such sins on your head, 
Sure your peace would be fled ; 
Could you sleep in your bed 

Without thinking to see 
Some ghost or some sprite, 
That would wake you each niglit, 
Crying, " Och hone ! widow machree ! " 



Then take my advice, darling widow ma- 
chree — 
Och hone ! widow machree — 
And with my advice, faith, I wish you 'd take 
me, 
Och hone ! widow machree ! 
You 'd have me to desire 
Then to stir up the fire ; 
And sure hope is no liar 
In whispering to me. 
That the ghosts would depart 
When you'd me near your heart — 
Och hone ! widow machree ! 

Samuel Lotee, 



286 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



STANZAS. 

On, talk not to me of a Barae great in story ; 
The (lavs of our youth are the clays of our 

glory, 
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and- 

twenty 
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so 

plenty. 

What are garlands and crowns to the brow 
that is wrinkled ? 

'T is hut as a dead flower wath May-dew be- 
sprinkled. 

Then away with all such from the head that 
is hoary ! 

What care I for the wreaths that can only 
give glory ? 

fame ! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
'T was less for the sake of thy high-sounding 

phrases 
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one 

discover 
She thought that I was not uaworthy to love 

her. 

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found 
thee ; 

Her glance was the best of the rays that sur- 
round thee ; 

When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright 
in my story, 

1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. 

Lord BrROJr. 



LOVE UNREQUITED. 

Tnouon thou say'st thou lov'st me not. 

And although thou bidd'st me blot 

From my heart, and from my brain. 

All this consciousness of thee, 

With its longing, its blest pain. 

And its deathless memory 

Of the liope — ah, why in vain ? — 

That thy great heart might beat for me ;- 

Ask it not,— love fixed so high, 

Though unrequited, cannot die ; 

In my soul such love hath root. 

And the world shall have the fruit. 

Anonymous. 



SONNET. 

Since there 's no help, come, let us kiss and 

part ! 
Nay, I have done ; you get no more of me ; 
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart. 
That thus so clearly I myself can free. 
Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, 
And when we meet at any time again 
Be it not seen, on either of our brows, 
That we one jot of former love retain 
Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath. 
When, his pulse failing, passion speechless 

lies, 
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 
And innocence is closing up his eyes ; 
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given 

him over. 
From death to life thou might'st him yet re- 
cover. 

Michael Drayton. 



JENNY KISSED ME. 

Jenny kissed me when we met, 

Jumping from the chair she sat in , 
Time, you thief! who love to get 

Sweets into your list, put that in. 
Say I 'm weary, say I 'm sad ; 
Say that health and wealth have missed me ; 
Say I 'm growing old, but add — 

Jonny kissed me ! 

Leigh Hunt. 



THE MAID'S LAMENT. 

I LOVED him not ; and yet, now he is gone, 

I feel I am alone. 
I checked him while he spoke ; yet, could he 
speak, 

Alas ! I would not clieck. 
For reasons not to love him once I sought. 

And wearied all my thought 
To vex myself and him ; I now woifld give 

My love, could he but live 
Who lately lived for me, and, when he found 

'T was vain, in holy groimd 
He hid his face amid the shades of death 1 

I waste for him my breath 



BALLAD. 



Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns, 

And this lone bosoin burns 
With stiiiing heat, heaving it up in sleep, 

And waking me to weep 
Tears that had melted his soft heart ; for years 

Wept he as bitter tears! 
" Merciful God! " such was his latest prayer, 

"These may she never share! " 
Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold 

Than daisies in the mould. 
Where children spell, athwart the churchyard 
gate. 

His name and life's brief date. 
Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye be. 

And oh ! pray, too, for me ! 

"Waltek Savags Landok. 



MISCONCEPTIONS. 

L 

Tms is a spray the bird clung to, 
Making it blossom with pleasure, 

Ere the high tree-top she sprung to. 
Fit for her nest and her treasure. 
Oh, what a hope beyond measure 

Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet 
hung to, — 

So to be singled out, built in, and sung to! 

n. 
This is a heart the queen leant on. 

Thrilled in a minute erratic. 
Ere the true bosom she bent on. 
Meet for love's regal dalmatic. 
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic 
Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer 

went on — 
Love to be saved for it, profl:ered to, spent 
on! 

EoBEET Browning. 



ONE W\\Y OF LOVE. 

L 

All June I bound the rose in sheaves ; 

Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves. 

And strew them where Pauhne may pass. 

She will not turn aside ? iVlas ! 

Let them he. Suppose they die? 

Tlie chance was they might take her eye. 



How many a month I strove to suit 
These stubborn fingers to the lute ! 
To-day I venture all I know. 
She will not hear my music 1 So ! 
Break the string — fold music's wing. 
Suppose Pauline had bade me sing ! 



My whole life long I learned to love ; 

This hour my utmost art I prove 

And speak my passion. — Heaven or hell? 

She will not give me heaven? 'T is well ! 

Lose who may — I still can say, 

Those who win heaven, blest are they. 

ROBEET BeOWNINO. 



BALLAD. 

Sion on, sad heart, for love's eclipse 

Aud beauty's fairest queen. 
Though 't is not for my peasant lips 

To soil her name between. 
A king might lay his sceptre down, 

But I am poor and naught ; 
The brow should wear a golden crown 

That w^ears her in its thought. 

The diamonds glancing in her hair, 

Whose sudden beams surprise, 
Might bid such humble hopes beware 

The glancing of her eyes ; 
Yet, looking once, I looked too long ; 

And if my love is sin. 
Death follows on the heels of wrong. 

And kills the crime within. 

Her dress seemed wove of lily leave^ 

It was so pure and fine — 
Oh lofty wears, and lowly weaves, 

But hodden gray is mine ; 
And homely hose must step apart, 

Wliere gartered princes stand ; 
But may he wear my love at heart 

That wins her lily hand! 

Alas ! there 's far from russet frieze 

To silks and satin gowns ; 
But I doubt if God made like degrees 

In courtly hearts and clowns. 



288 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



My father WTOiiged a maiden's mirtli, 
And brought her cheeks to blame ; 

And all that 's lordly of my birth 
Is ray reproach and shame ! 

'T is vain to weep, 't is vain to sigh, 

'T is vain this idle speech — 
For where her happy pearls do lie 

My tears may never reach ; 
Yefc when I 'm gone, e'en lofty pride 

May say, of what has been, 
His love Avas nobly born and died, 

Tho' all the rest was mean ! 

My speech is rude, — but speech is weak 

Such love as mine to tell ; 
Yet had I words, I dare not speak : 

So, lady, fare thee well ! 
I will not wish thy better state 

Was one of low degree. 
But I must weep that partial fate 

Made such a churl of me. 

Thomas Hood. 



THE DREAM. 



Our life is twofold : sleep hath its own world— 
A boundary between the things misnamed 
Death and existence : sleep liath its own woild, 
And a wide realm of wild reality ; 
And dreams in their development have breath. 
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of 

joy; 
They leave a weight upon our waking 

thoughts ; 
They take a weight from off our waking toils ; 
They do divide our being ; they become 
A portion of ourselves as of our time, 
And look like heralds of eternity ; 
They pass like spirits of the past, — they speak 
Like sibyls of the future ; they have power — 
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain ; 
They make us what we were not — what they 

will; 
They shake us with the vision that 's gone by. 
The dread of vanished shadows — are they so ? 
Is not the past all shadow ? What are they ? 
Creations of the mind? — the mind can make 
Substance, and people planets of its own 



With beings brighter than have been, and 

give 
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesli. 
I would recall a vision, which I dreamed 
Perchance in sleep — for in itself a thought, 
A slumbering thought, is capable of years, 
And curdles a long life into one hour. 



I saw two beings in the hues of youth 

Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill. 

Green and of mild declivity ; the last, 

As 't were the cape, of a long ridge of such, 

Save that there was no sea to lave its base, 

But a most living landscape, and the wave 

Of woods and cornfields, and the abodes of 

men 
Scattered at intervals, and Avreathing smoke 
Arising from such rustic roofs ; — the hill 
Was crowned with a peculiar diadem 
Of trees, in circular array — so fixed, 
Not by the sport of nature, but of man. 
These two, a maiden and a youth, were there 
Gazing— the one on all that was beneath; 
Fair as herself — but the boy gazed on her ; 
Ajid both were young, and one was beauti- 
ful ; 
And both were young— yet not alike in 

youth. 
As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge, 
The maid was on the eve of womanhood ; 
The boy had fewer summers ; but his heart 
Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye 
There was but one beloved face on earth, 
And that was shining on him ; he had looked 
Upon it till it could not pass away ; 
He had no breath, no beiag, but in hers; 
She was his voice ; he did not speak to her, 
But trembled on her words; she was his 

sight. 
For his eye followed hers, and saw with 

hers, 
Which colored all his objects ; — ^he had ceased 
To live within himself; she was his hfe, 
Tlie ocean to the river of his thoughts, 
Which terminated all ;' upon a tone, 
A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and 

flow, 
And his check change tempestuously — his 

heart 
IJnlcnowing of its cause of agony. 



THE DUE AM. 



2S9 



But she in these fond feelings had no share : 
Ilcr sighs were not for him ; to her he was 
Even as a brother — but no more; 'twas 

iimch ; 
For brotlicrless she was, save in the name 
Her infant friendship had bestowed on him — 
Herself the solitary scion left 
Of a time-honored race. — It was a name 
Wliich pleased him, and yet pleased him not 

— and why ? 
Time taught him a deep answer — when she 

loved 
Another. Even now she loved anotlier ; 
And on the summit of that hill she stood 
Looking afor, if yet her lover's steed 
Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. 

III. 
A change came o'er the spirit of my di'cam : 
There was an ancient mansion ; and before 
Its walls there was a steed caparisoned. 
Within an antique oratory stood 
The boy of whom I spake ; — he was alone. 
And pale, and pacing to and fro. Anon 
He sate him down, and seized a pen and 

traced 
Words which I could not guess of; then he 

leaned 
Hfs bowed head on his hands, and shook, as 

't were 
With a convulsion — then arose again : 
And with his teeth and quivering hands did 

tear 
What he had written ; but he shed no tears. 
And he did calm himself, and fix his brow 
Into a kind of quiet. As he paused. 
The lady of his love reentered there ; 
She was serene and smiling then ; and yet 
Slie knew she was by him beloved; she 

knew — 
HoAV quicldy comes such knowledge ! that 

his heart 
Was darkened with her shadow, and she saw 
That he was wretched; but she saw not all. 
He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp 
He took her hand ; a moment o'er his foce 
A tablet of unutterable thoughts 
Was traced ; and then it faded as it came. 
He dropped the hand he held, and with slow 

steps 
Retired ; but not as bidding her adieu, 
41 



For they did part with mutual smiles. He 

passed 
From out the massy gate of that old liall ; 
And, mounting on his steed, he went his way ; 
And ne'er repassed that hoary threshold 

more. 

IV. 

A change came o'er the spii-it of my dream : 
The boy was sprung to manhood. In the 

wilds 
Of tiery climes he made himself a home. 
And his soul drank their sunbeams; he Avas 

girt 
With strange and dusky aspects ; he was not 
Himself like what he had been; on the sea 
And on the shore he was a wanderer; 
There was a mass of many images 
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was 
A part of all ; and in the last he lay. 
Reposing from the noontide sultriness. 
Couched among fallen columns, in the shade 
Of ruined walls that had survived the names 
Of those who reared them ; by his sleeping 

side 
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds 
Were fastened near a fountain ; and a man 
Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while. 
While many of his tribe slumbered around; 
And they were canopied by the blue sky — 
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, 
That God alone was to be seen in heaven. 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The lady of his love was wed with one 
Who did not love her better. In her home, 
A thousand leagues from his, — her native 

home — 
She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy, 
Daughters and sons of beauty. But behold ! 
Upon her face there Avas the tint of grief. 
The settled shadow of an inward strife. 
And an unquiet drooping of the eye, 
As if its lids were charged with unshed tears. 
What could her grief be? — She had all she 

loved ; 
And he who had so loved her was not there 
To trouble with bad hopes or evil wish, 
Or ill-repressed affection, her pure thoughts. 
What could her grief be? — she had loved him 

not, 



2?0 



rOEMS OF LOVE. 



Nor given liim cause to deem himself be- 
loved ; 
Nor coidd he he a part of that which preyed 
Upon her mind — a spectre of the past. 

VI. 

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The wanderer was retarned— I saw him stand 
Before an altar, with a gentle bride ; 
Her face was fair; but was not that which 

made 
The starlight of his boyhood. As he stood, 
Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came 
The self-same aspect, and the quivering shock 
That in the antique oratory shook 
Ilis bosom in its solitude ; and then — 
As in that hour — a moment o'er his face 
The tablet of unutterable thoughts 
"Was traced — and then it faded as it came ; 
And he stood calm and quiet ; and he spoke 
The fitting vows, but heard not his own 

words ; 
And aU tilings reeled around him ; he could 

see 
Not that which was, nor that which should 

have been — 
But the old mansion, and the accustomed 

hall, 
Aiid the remembered chambers, and the 

place. 
The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the 

shade — 
All things pertaining to that place and hour, 
And her who was his destiny — came back 
And thrust themselves between him and the 

light; 
Wliat business had they there at such a time ? 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The lady of his love — oh ! she was changed. 
As by the sickness of the soul ; her mind 
Had wandered from its dwelling; and her 

eyes, 
They had not their own lustre, but the look 
"Which is not of the earth ; she was become 
The queen of a fantastic realm ; her thoughts 
Were combinations of disjointed things, 
And forms impalpable, and unperceived 
Of others' sight, familiar were to hers. 



And this the world calls frenzy ; but the 

wise 
IIa,ve a far deeper madness, and the glance 
Of melancholy is a fearful gift ; 
What is it but the telescope of truth ? 
"Which strips the distance of its fantasies. 
And brings life near to utter nakedness, 
Making the cold reality too real ! 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The wanderer was alone, as heretofore; 
The beings which surrounded him were gone 
Or were at war with him ; he was a mark 
For blight and desolation — compassed round 
"With hatred and contention; pain was mixed 
In all which was served up to him ; imtil. 
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days. 
He fed on poisons ; and they had no power, 
But were a kind of nutriment. He lived 
Through that which had been death to many 

men; 
And made him friends of mountains. "With 

tlie stars. 
And the quick spirit of the universe, 
He held his dialogues, and they did teach 
To him the magic of their mysteries ; 
To him the book of night was opened wide, 
And voices from the deep abyss revealed 
A marvel and a secret— Be it so. 



My dream was past; it had no further 

change. 
It was of a strange order, that the doom 
Of these two creatures should be thus traced 

out 
Almost like a reality — the one 
To end in madness — both in misery. 

Lord Bykon. 



ASK ME NO MOEE. 

Ask me no more : the moon may draw the 
sea ; 
The cloud may stoo}) from heaven and take 

the shape, 
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape. 
But, oh too fond, when have I answered thee ? 
Ask me no more. 



IT MIGHT EAYE BEEN. 



29: 



Ask me no more : what answer should I give ? 

I love not hollow cheek or faded eye ; 

Yet, my friend, I will not have thee die ! 
Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live ; 
Ask me no more. 

Ask me no more : thy fate and mine are 
sealed. 
I strove against the stream and all in vain. 
Let the great river take me to the main. 
No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield ; 
Ask me no more ! 

Alfred Tennyson. 



WHEN" WE TWO PARTED. 

Woes' U'e two parted 

In silence and tears, 
Half broken-hearted. 

To sever for years. 
Pale grew thy cheek and cold. 

Colder thy kiss ; 
Truly that hour foretold 

Sorrow to this. 

The dew of the morning 

Sunk chill on my brow — 
It felt like the warning 

Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all broken. 

And light is thy fame ; 
I hear thy name spoken. 

And share in its shame. 

They name thee before me, 

A knell to mine ear ; 
A shudder comes o'er me — 

Why wert thou so dear ? 
They know not I knew thee, 

Who knew thee too well. 
Long, long, shall I rue thee 

Too deeply to tell, 

111 secret we met — 

In silence I grieve, 
That thy heart could forget, 

Til J' spirit deceive. 



If I should meet thee 

After long years, 
IIow should I greet thee ?■ — 

In silence and tears. 

Lord BTEnw 



IT MIGHT HAVE BEEK 

Ax August evening, on a balcony 
That overlooked a woodland and a lake, 
I sat in the still air, and talked with one 
Whose face shone fairer than the crescent 

moon. 
Just over-head, a violin and flute 
Played prelude to a dance. Their long- 
drawn chords 
Poured through the windows, gaping sum- 
mer-wide, 
A flood of notes that, flowing outward, swept 
To the last ripple of the orchard trees. 

I had not known her long, but loved her 

more 
Than I could dream of then — oh, even now 
I dare not dwell upon my passion, — more 
Than life itself I loved her, and still love. 

The white enchantment of her dimpled hand 
Lay soft in mine ! I looked into her eyes ; 
I knew I was unworthy, but I felt 
That I Avas noble if she did hut smile. 

A light of stars shone round her head ; I saw 
The sombre shores that gloomed the lake 

below ; 
The shadows settling on the distant hills ; 
I heard the pleasant music of the night, 
Brought by the wind, a vagrant messenger, 
From the deep forest and the broad, sweet 

fields. 

But when she spoke, and her pervasive voice 

Stole on me till I trembled to my knees, 

1 pressed my lips to hers — then round me 

glowed 
A sudden light, that seemed to flash me on. 
Beyond myself, beyond the fainting stars. 
Then all the bleak disheartenings of a life 
That had not been of pleasure faded off, 



292 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And left me with a purpose, and a hope 
That 1 was horn for something hraver than 
To hang my head and wear a nameless name. 

That hour has passed, nor ever came again. 
We all do live such — so I would helieve. 
Life's mere arithmetic and prose are mine, 
And I have missed the heauty of the world. 

Let this rememhrance comfort me, — that 

when 
My heart seemed bursting — like a restless 

wave. 
That, swollen with fearful longing for the 

shore, 
Throws its strong life on the imagined bliss 
Of finding peace and undisturbed calm — 
It fell on rock and broke in many tears. 

Else could I bear, on all days of the year. 
Not now alone — this gijntle summer night, 
"When scythes are busy in the headed grass, 
Axi'l the full moon warms me to thought- 
fulness, — 
This voice, that haunts the desert of my soul ; 
" It might have been," alas! "It might have 

been ! " 

William Ceoss Williamson. 



But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine 
Are as cold as that lonely river; 

And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine, 
Has shrouded its fires for ever. 

And now on the midnight sky I look, 

And my heart grows full of weeping ; 
Each star is to me a sealed book. 

Some tale of that loved one keeping. 
"We parted in silence — we parted in tears, --• 

On the banks of that lonely river : 
But the odor and bloom of those by-gone 
years 

Shall hang o'er its waters for ever. 

Mrs. Okawfobb. 



WE PARTED IN SILENCE. 

We parted in silence, we parted by night. 

On the banks of that lonely river; 
Where the fragrant limes their boughs unite. 

We met — and w^i^arted for ever ! 
The night-bird sung, and the stars above 

Told many a touching story, 
Of friends long passed to the kingdom of 
love, 

Wliere the soul wears its mantle of glory. 

Wo parted in silence — our cheeks were wet 
With the tears that were past controlling; 
We vowed we would never — no, never for- 
get, 
And those vows at the time were con- 
soling ; 



IN A YEAR. 

Never any more 

While I live. 
Need I hope to see his face 

As befoi-e. 
Once his love grown chill, 

Mine may strive — 
Bitterly we reerabrace, 

Single still. 

Was it something said. 

Something done, 
Vexed him ? was it touch of hand, 

Turn of head ? 
Strange ! that very way 

Love begun. 
I as little imderstand 

Love's decay. 

When I sewed or drew, 

I recall 
How he looked as if I sang 

— Sweetly too. 
If I spoke a word. 

First of all 
Up his cheek the color sprang, 

Then he heard. 

Sitting by my side, 
At my feet, 
So he breathed the air I breathed, 

Satisfied ! 





MARIANA IN 


THE SOUTH. 293 


I, too, at love's brim 


Dear, the pang is brief. 




Touclied the sweet. 


Do thy part, 




I would die if death bequeathed 


Have thy pleasure. How perplext 




Sweet to him. 


Grows belief! 
Well, this cold clay clod 




"Speak— I love thee best ! " 

He exclaimed — 
"Let thy love my own foretell." 


Was man's heart. 

Crumble it — and what comes next? 

Is it God? 

EoBEET Browning 




I confessed : 






" Clasp my heart on thine 








Now unblamed, 


k 




Since upon thy soul as well 
Ilaiigeth mine ! " 


MARIANA m THE SOUTH. 




Was it wrong to own, 


1. 
With one black shadow at its feet. 




Being truth ? 


The house through all the level shines. 


• 


Why should all the giving prove 


Close-latticed to the brooding heat. 




His alone ? 


And silent in its dusty vines ; 




I had wealth and ease, 


A faint-blue ridge upon the right, 




Beauty, youth — 


An empty river-bed before, 




Since my lover gave me love, 


And shallows on a distant shore, 




I gave these. 


In glaring sand and inlets bright. 

But " Ave Mary," made she moan, 




That was all I meant, 

— To be just. 
And the passion I had raised 


And "Ave Mary," night and morn; 

And " Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, 

To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 




To content. 






Since he chose to change 

Gold for dust, 
If I gave him what he praised 

Was it strange ? 


II. 
She, as her carol sadder grew, 

From brow and bosom slowly down 
Through rosy taper fingers drew 

Her streaming curls of deepest brown 




Would he loved me yet. 


To left and right, and made appear, 
Still-lighted in a secret shrine. 




On and on. 
While I found some way undreamed 

— Paid my debt ! 
Gave more life and more, 


Her melancholy eyes divine, 
The home of woe without a tear. 

And " Ave Mary," was her moan, 
" Madonna, sad is night and morn ; " 




Till, all gone, 
He should smile " She never seemed 
Mine before. 


And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, 
To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 




"What — she felt the while, 


III. 
Till all the crimson changed, and passed 




Must I think ? 


Into deep orange o'er the sea. 




Love 's so different with us men," 


Low on her knees herself she cast. 




lie should smile. 


Before Our Lady murmured she ; 




" Dying for my sake — 


Complaining, " MotJier, give me grace 




AVhite and pink ! 


To help me of m}' weary load 1 " 




Can 't we touch these bubbles then 


And on the liquid mirror glowed 


1 


But they break ? " 


The clear perfection of her face. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



" Is tliis the form," she made her moan, 
" That won his praises night and morn?" 

And "Ah," she said, "but I wake alone, 
T sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." 

lY. 

Kor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, 

ISTor any cloud would cross the vault ; 
But day increased from heat to heat. 

On stony drought and steaming salt ; 
Till now at noon she slept again, 
And seemed knee-deep in mountain grass, 
And heard her native breezes pass, 
And runlets babbling down the glen. 

She breathed in sleep a lower moan ; 

And murmuring, as at night and morn, 
She thought, "My spirit is here alone, 
Walks forgotten, and is forlorn." 

V. 

Dreaming, she knew it was a dream ; 
She felt he was and was not there. 
Slie woke ; the babble of the stream 
Fell, and without the steady glare 
Shrank the sick olive sere and small. 
The river-bed was dusty white ; 
And all the furnace of the light 
Struck up against the blinding wall. 
She whispered, with a stifled moan 

More inward than at night or morn, 
" Sweet mother, let me not liere alone 
Live forgotten, and die forlorn." 

TI. 

And, rising, from her bosom drew 

Old letters, breathing of her worth ; 
For " Love," they said, " must needs be true, 

To what is loveliest upon earth." 
An image seemed to pass the door. 
To look at her with slight, and ?ay, 
" But now thy beauty flows away. 
So be alone for evermore." 

" O cruel heart," she changed her tone, 
"And cruel love, whose end is scorn, 
Is this the end — to be left alone, 
To live forgotten, and die forlorn I " 



But sometimes in tlie falling day 
An image seemed to pass the door. 

To look into her eyes and say, 

" But thou shalt be alone no more." 



And flaming downward over all, 
From heat to heat the day decreased, 
And slowly rounded to the east 
The one black shadow from the wall. 

" The day to night," she made her moan, 
" The day to night, the night to morn 
And day and night I am left alone, 
To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 

VIII. 

At eve a dry cicala sung ; 

There came a sound as of the sea ; 
Backward the lattice-blind she flung. 

And leaned upon the balcony. 
There, all in spaces rosy-bright, 
Jjarge Hesper glittered on her tears, 
And deepening through the silent spheres, 
Heaven over heaven, rose the night, 

And weeping then she made her moan, 
" The night comes on that knows nol 
morn ; 
"When I shall cease to be all alone. 
To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 
Alfred Tenntson 



SONG. 



" A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green — 

No more of me you knew, 
My love ! 
No more of me you knew. 

" This morn is merry June, 1 trow — 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turned his charger as he spake, 

Upon the river shore; 
He gave his bridle reins a shake, 

Said, " Adieu for evermore, 
My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." 

Sir "Waltek Scott. 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 



295 



LOOKSLEY HALL. 

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as 

yet 't is early morn — 
Leave me here, and when you want me, sound 

upon the bugle horn. 

T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the 

curlews call, 
Dreary gleams about the moorland, flying over 

Locksley Hall ; 

Locksley Ilall, that iu the distance overlooks 

the sandy tracts. 
And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into 

cataracts, 

Many a night from yonder ivied casement, 

ere I went to rest, 
Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to 

the west. 

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through 

the mellow shade. 
Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a 

silver braid. 

Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing 

a youth sublime 
With the fairy tales of science, and the long 

result of time ; 

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful 
land reposed ; 
, When I clung to all the present for the prom- 
ise that it closed ; 

When I dipt into the future far as human eye 
could see — 

Saw the vision of the world, and all the won- 
der that would be. 

In tlie spring a fuller crimson comes upon the 

robin's breast ; 
In the spring the wanton lapwing gets him- 

selt another crest ; 

In the spring a livelier iris changes on the 

burnished dove ; 
In tlie spring a young man's fancy lightly 

turns to tlionghts of love. 



Then her cheek was pale and thinner than 
should be for one so young. 

And her eyes on all my motions with a mute 
observance hung. 

And I said, " My cousin Amy, speak, and 

speak the truth to me ; 
Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being 

sets to thee." 

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a 

color and a light, 
As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the 

northern night. 

And she turned — ^her bosom shaken with a 

sudden storm of sighs — 
All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of 

hazel eyes — 

Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing they 
should do me wrong ; " 

Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weep- 
ing, "I have loved thee long." 

Love took up the glass of time, and turned 

it in his glowing hands ; 
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in 

golden sands. 

Love took up the harp of life, and smote on 

all the chords with might ; 
Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, 

passed iu music out of sight. 

Many a morning on the moorland did we hear 

the copses ring. 
And her whisper thronged my pulses with 

the fulness of the spring. 

Many an evening by the waters did we watch 
the stately ships. 

And our spirits rushed together at the touch- 
ing of the lips. 

Oh my cousin, shallow-hearted ! Oh my 

Amy, mine no more ! 
Oh the dreary, dreary moorland! Oh the 

baiTen, barren shore ! 



290 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all 

songs have sung — 
Pupi^et to a father's threat, and servile to a 

shrewish tongue ! 

Is it well to wish thee happy ? — ^having known 

me ; to decline 
On a range of lower feelings and a narrower 

heart than mine ! 

Yet it shall be : thou shalt lower to his level 

day by day. 
What is fine within thee groAving coarse to 

sympathize with clay. 

As the husband is, the wife is ; thou art 

mated with a clown, 
And the grossness of his nature will have 

weight to drag thee down. 

He will hold thee, when his passion shall 

have spent its novel force. 
Something better than his dog, a little dearer 

than his hoi'se. 

What is this ? his eyes are heavy— think not 

they are glazed with wine. 
Go to him ; it is thy duty — ^kiss him ; take 

his hand in thine. 

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is 

overwrought — 
Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him 

with thy lighter thought. 

He will answer to the purpose, easy things to 

understand — 
Better thou wert dead before me, though I 

slew thee with my hands. 

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from 

the heart's disgrace. 
Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a 

last embrace. 

Cursed be the social wants that sin against 

the strength of youth ! 
Cursed be the social lies that warp us from 

the living truth ! 



Cursed be the sickly forms that err from 

honest nature's rule ! 
Cursed be the gold that gilds the straitened 

forehead of the fool ! 

Well — 't is well that I should bluster ! — Hadst 
thou less unworthy proved, 

Would to God — for I had loved thee more 
than ever wife was loved. 

Am I mad, that I should cherish that which 

bears but bitter fruit ? 
I will pluck it from my bosom, though my 

heart be at the root. 

Never! though my mortal summers to such 
length of years should come 

As the many-wintered crow that leads the 
clanging rookery home. 

Where is comfort ? in division of the records 

of the mind ? 
Can I part her from herself, and love her, as 

I knew her, kind ? 

I remember one that perished ; sweetly did 

she speak and move ; 
Such a one do I-remember, whom to look at 

was to love. 

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for 

the love she bore ? 
No — she never loved me truly ; love is love 

for evermore. 

Comfort ? comfort scorned of devils ! this is 
truth the poet sings, 

That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remem- 
bering happier things. 

Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest 

thy heart be put to proof, 
In the dead, unhappy night, and when the 

rain is on the roof. 

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams .; and thou art 

staring at the wall, 
Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the 

shadows rise and fall. 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 



297 



Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing' 

to his drunken sleep, 
To tliy widowed marriage- pillows, to the 

tears that thou wilt w^eep. 

Thou shalt hear the "I^ever, never," whis- 
pered by the phantom years. 

And a song from out the distance in the ring- 
ing of thine ears ; 

And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient 

kindness on thy pain. 
Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow ; get thee 

to thy rest again. 

Nay, but nature brings thee solace ; for a 

tender voice will cry; 
'T is a purer life than thine ; a lip to drain 

thy trouble dry. 

Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest 

rival brings thee rest — 
Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from 

the mother's breast. 

Oh, the child, too, clothes the father with a 

dearness not his due ; 
Half is thine, and half is his — it will be 

worthy of the two. 

Oh, I see thee, old and formal, fitted to tby 

petty part, 
With a littl-e hoard of maxims preaching down 

a daughter's heart : 

" They were dangerous guides the feelings — 

she herself was not exempt — 
Truly, she herself had suft'ered." — Perish in 

thy self-contempt ! 

Overlive it — lower yet — be happy! wherefore 

should I care ? 
I myself must mix with action, lest I wither 

by despair. 

AYliat is that which I should turn to, lighting 

upon days like these ? 
Every door is barred with gold, and opens 

but to golden keys, 
42 



Every gate is thronged with suitors; all the 

markets overflow. 
I have but an angry fancy : what is that 

which I should do ? 

I had been content to perish, falling on the 

foeman's ground, 
When the ranks are rolled in vapor, and the 

winds are laid with sound. 

But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt 

that honor feels. 
And the nations do but murmur, snarling at 

each other's heels. 

Can I but relive in sadness ? I will turn that 
earlier page. 

Hide me from my deep emotion, thou won- 
drous mother-age ! 

Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt 

before the strife. 
When I heard my days before me, and the 

tumult of my life ; 

Yearning for the large excitement that the 
coming years would yield — 

Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves 
his father's field, 

And at night along the dusky highway near 

and nearer drawn, 
Sees in heaven the light of London flaring 

like a dreary dawn ; 

And his spirit leaps within him to be gone 

before him then. 
Underneath the light he looks at, in among 

the throngs of men — 

Men, my brothers, men the w^orkers, ever 

reaping something new : 
That which they have done but earnest of the 

things that they shall do ; 

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye 
could see — 

Saw the vision of the world, and all the won- 
der that would be — 



29S 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies 

of magic sails, 
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down 

with costly bales — 

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and 

there rained a ghastly dew 
From the nations' airy navies grappling in 

the central blue ; 

Far along the world-wide whisper of the 

south-wind rushing warm. 
With the standards of the peoples plunging 

through the thunder-storm ; 

Till the war-drum throbbed no longej', and 

the battle-flags were furled 
In tlie parliament of man, the federation of 

tlie world. 

There the common sense of most shall hold a 

fretful realm in awe. 
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in 

universal law. 

So I triumphed, ere my passion sv,'eeping 

through me, left me dry. 
Left me with the palsied heart, and left me 

with the jaundiced eye — 

Eye, to which all order festers, all things here 

are out of joint. 
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping 

on from point to point; 

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, 

creeping nigher, 
Glares at one that nods and winks behind a 

slowly-dying fire. 

Yet I doubt not through the ages one increas- 
ing purpose runs, 

And the thoughts of men are widened with 
the process of the suns. 

WJiat is that to him that reaps not harvest of 

his youthful joys, 
riiough the deep heart of existence beat for 

ever like a boy's ? 



Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers; and 1 

linger on the shore, 
And the individual withers, and the world is 

more and more. 

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and 

he bears a laden breast. 
Full of sad experience moving toward the 

stillness of his rest. 

Hark ! my merry comrades call me, sounding 
on the bugle horn — 

They to whom my foolish passion were a tar- 
get for their scorn ; 

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a 

mouldered string ? 
I am shamed through all my nature to have 

loved so slight a thing. 

Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! 

woman's pleasure, woman's pain — 
Nature made them blinder motions bounded 

in a shallower brain ; 

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy pas- 
sions, matched with mine. 

Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water 
unto wine — 

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. 

Ah, for some retreat 
Deep in yonder shining orient, where my life 

began to beat ! 

Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father, 

evil-starred ; 
I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish 
uncle's ward. 

Or to burst all links of habit — there to wan- 
der far away. 

On from island unto island at the gateways 
of the day — 

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons 

and happy skies. 
Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, 

knots of Paradise. 



ORPHEUS TO BEASTS. 



299 



i:^'over comes the trader, never floats an Eu- 
ropean flag — 

Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, droops 
the trailer from the crag — 

Droops tht! heavy-blossomed bov/er, hangs 

the heavy-fruited tree — 
Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple 

spheres of sea. 

There, methinks, would be enjoyment more 
than in this march of mind — 

In the steamship, in the railway, in the 
thoughts that shake mankind. 

There the passions, cramped no longer, shall 
have scope and breathing-space ; 

I will take some savage woman, she shall renr 
my dusky race. 

Iron-jointcci, supple-sinewed, they shall div?.. 

and they shall run. 
Catch the Avild goat by the hair, and hurl 

their lances in the sun. 

Whistle back the parrot's cull, and leai) the 
rainbows .of the brooks. 

Not with blinded eyesiglit poring over mis- 
erable books — 

Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know 

my words are wild. 
But I count the gray barbarian lower than 

the Christian child. 

I. to herd v.ath narrow foreheads, vacant of 

our glorious gains, 
Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast 

with lower pains ! 

Jfated with a squalid savage — what to me 

were sun or clime? 
I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files 

of time — 

I, that rather held it better men showld perish 

one by one. 
Than that earth should stand at gaze like 

Joshua's moon in Ajalon ! 

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, 

forward let us range; 
Let the great world spin forever down the 

ringing grooves of change. 



Through the shadow of the globe we sweep 

into the younger day : 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of 

Cathay. 

Mother-age, (for mine I knew not,) help me 

as when life begun — 
Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the 

lightnings, weigh the sun — 

Oh, I see the crescent promise of my spirit 

hath not set ; 
Ancient founts of inspiration well through all 

my fancy yet. 

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to 

Locksley Hall ! 
Now for me the woods may wither, now for 

me the roof-tree fall. 

Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening 

over heath and holt, 
Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast 

a thunderbolt. 

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail. 

or fire or snow ; 

For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward. 

and I go. 

Alfred Tenstson. 



ORPHEUS TO BEASTS. 

Here, here, oh here, Eurydice — 

Here was she slain — 
Her soul 'stilled through a vein ; 

The gods knew less 
That time divinity, 

Thaa ev'n, ev'n these 

Of brutishness. 

Oh could you view the melody 

Of every grace. 
And music of her face, 

You 'd drop a tear ; 
Seeing more harmony 

In her bright eye. 

Than now you hear. 

ElCUABD LoTELACa 



800 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Oil THAT 'T WERE POSSIBLE. 



Ou that 't were possible, 
After long grief and pain, 
To find the arms of my true love 
Round me once again ! 



When I was wont to meet her 
In the silent woody places 
Of the land that gave me birth, 
We stood tranced in long embraces 
Mixt with kisses sweeter, sweeter 
Than anvthing on earth. 



A shadow flits before me, 

Not thoii, but like to thee ; 

Ah Christ, that it Avere possible 

For one short hour to see 

The souls we loved, that they might tell us 

What and where they be ! 



It leads me forth at evening. 

It lightly winds and steals 

In a cold white robe before me. 

When all my spirit reels 

At the shouts, the leagues of lights. 

And the roaring of the wheels. 



Half the night I waste in sighs, 
Half in dreams I sorrow after 
The delight of early skies ; 
In a wakeful doze I sorrow 
For the hand, the lips, the eyes- 
For the meeting of the morrow. 
The delight of happy laughter. 
The delight of low replies. 



'T is a morning pure and sweet, 
And a dewy splendor falls 
On the little flower that clings 
To the turrets and the walls ; ' 
'T is a morning pure and sweet. 
And the light and shadow fleet ; 
She is walking in the meadow, 



And the woodland echo rings 
In a moment w^e shall meet ; 
She is singing in the meadow, 
And the rivulet at her feet 
Ripples on in light and shadow 
To the ballad that she sings. 



Do I hear her sing as of old. 
My bird with the shining head, 
My own dove with the tender eye ? 
But there rings on a sudden a passionate 

cry — 
There is some one dying or dead ; 
And a sullen thunder is rolled ; 
For a tumult shakes the city, 
And I "svake— my dream is fled ; 
In the shuddering dawn, behold. 
Without knoAvledge, without pity, 
By the curtains of my bed 
That abiding phantom cold ! 



Get thee hence, nor come again ! 
Mix not memory with doubt. 
Pass, thou deathlike type of pain, 
Pass and cease to move about i 
'T is the blot upon the brain 
That will show itself without. 



Then I rise; the eave-drops fall. 
And the yellow vapors choke 
The great city sounding wide ^ 
The day comes— a dull red ball 
Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke 
On the misty river-tide. 



Through the hubbub of the market 

I steal, a wasted frame ; 

It crosses here, it crosses there. 

Through all that crowd confused and loud 

The shadow still the same ; 

And on ray heavy eyelids 

My anguish hangs like shame. 



Alas for her that met me. 
That heard me softly call. 
Came glimmering through the laurels 



THE BLOOM HATH FLED THY CHEEK, MARY. 301 


At tlie quiet evenfall, 




In the garden by the turrets 


THE BLOOM HATH FLED THY CHEEK 


Of the old manorial hall! 


MARY. 


xir. 


The bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary, 


Would the happy spirit descend 


As spring's rath blossoms die ; 


From the realms of light and song, 


And sadness hath o'ershadowed now 


In the chamber or the street, 


Thy once bright eye ; 


As she looks among the blest, 


But look ! on me the prints of grief 


Should I fear to greet my friend 


Still deeper lie. 


Or to say "Forgive the wrong," 


Farewell ! 


Or to ask her, " Take me, sweet, 




To the regions of thy rest ? " 


Thy lips are pale and mute, Mary ; 




Thy step is sad and slow ; 


XIII. 


The morn of gladness hath gone by 


But the broad light glares and beats, 


Thou erst did know ; 


And the shadow flits and fleets 


I, too, am changed like thee, and weep 


And will not let me be ; 


For very woe. 


And I loathe the squares and streets. 


Farewell ! 


And tlie faces that one meets. 




Hearts with no love for me ; 


It seems as 'twere but yesterday 


Always I long to creep 


"We were the happiest twain. 


Into some still cavern deep, 


When murmured sighs and joyous tears, 


There to weep, and weep, and weep 


Dropping like rain, 


My whole soul out to thee. 


Discoursed my love, and told how loved 


Alfred Tennyson. 


I was again. 




Farewell ! 
'T was not in cold and measured phrase 




SONNET. 


We gave our passion name ; 




Scorning such tedious eloquence, 


Wnr art thou silent! Is thy love a plant 


Our hearts' fond flame 


Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 


And long-imprisoned feelings fast 


Of absence withers what was once so fair ? 


In deep sobs came. 


Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ? 


Farewell ! 


Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant 


Would that our love had been the love 


(As would my deeds have been) with hourly 


That merest worldlings know, 


care. 


When passion's draught to our doomed lipa 


The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 


Turns utter woe. 


For nought but what thy happiness could 


And our poor dream of happiness 


spare. 


Vanishes so ! 




Farewell ! 


Si>eak I though this soft warm heart, once free 




to hold 


But in the wreck of all our hopes 


A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 


There 's yet some touch of bliss, 


l>e left more desolate, more dreary cold 


Since fate robs not our wretchedness 


Than a forsaken bir'd's-nest, filled with snow 


Of this last kiss : 


'^Nlid its own bush of leafless eglantine ; 


Despair, and love, and madness meet 


Speak, that my torturing doubts tlicir end 


In this, in this. 


may know I 


Farewell ! 


William "Wordsworth. 


William Mother-well. 



202 POEMS OF LOVE. 


WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY. 


JEANIE MORRISON. 


On waly, waly up the bank, 


I 'vE wandered east, I 've wandered west, 


And waly, waly down the brae, 


Through mony a weary way ; 


And waly, waly yon burn side, 


But never, never can forget 


Where I and my love wont to gae. 


The luve o' life's young day ! 




The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en 


I leaned my back unto an aik. 


May weel be black gin Yule ; 


I thought it was a trusty tree ; 


But blacker fa' awaits the heart 


But first it bowed, and syne it brak — 


Where first fond luve grows cule. 


Sae my true love did lightly me ! 






dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, 


Oh waly, waly, but love be bonny. 


The thochts o' bygane years 


A little time while it is new ; 


Still fling their shadows ower my path, 


But wlien 'tis auld it waxeth cauld. 


And blind my een wi' tears : 


And fades away like the morning dew. 


They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears, 




And sair and sick I pine, 


Oh wlierefore should I busk my head ? 


As memory idly summons up 


Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? 


The blithe blinks o' langsyne. 


For my true love has me forsook, 




And says he '11 never love me mair. 


'T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, 




'T was then we twa did part ; 


Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed ; 


Sweet time— sad time ! twa bairns at scale, 


The sheets shall ne'er be fyled by me ; 


Twa bairns, and but ae heart ! 


Saint Anton's well shall be my drink. 


'T was then we sat on ae laigh bink, 


Since my true love has forsaken me. 


To leir ilk ither lear ; 




And tones and looks and smiles were shed, 


Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 


Remembered evermair. 


Ahd shake the green leaves oti" the tree ? 




gentle death, when wilt thou come ? 


I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, 


For of my life I 'm weary. 


When sitting on that bink, 




Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, 


'T is not the frost that freezes fell. 


What our wee heads could think. 


Nor blawing snaw's inclemency ; 


When baith bent doun ower ae braid page, 


'T is not sic cauld that makes me cry, 


Wi' ae bulk on our knee, 


But my love's heart grown cauld to me. 


Thy lips were on thy lesson, but 




My lesson Avas in thee. 


When we came in by Glasgow town. 




We were a comely sight to see ; 


Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads, 


My love Avas clad in the black velvet. 


How cheeks brent red wi' shame, 


And I my sell in cramasie. 


Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said 


But had I wist, before I kissed, 


We cleeked thegither hame ? 


That love had been sae ill to win, 


And mind ye o' the Saturdays, 


I 'd locked my heart in a case of gold. 


(The scule then skail't at noon,) 


And pinned it with a silver pin. 


When we ran ofl" to sped the braes,— 




The broomy braes o' June ? 


Oh, oh, if my young babe were born, 




And set upon the nurse's knee. 


My head rins round and round about — ■ 


And I my sell were dead and gane, 


My heart flows like a sea. 


And the green grass growin' over me ! 


As ane by ane the thochts rush back 


Anonymous. 


0' scule-time and o' thee. 



MY IIEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. 



303 



Oh niornin' life! oh morniii' hive ! 

Oh lichtsonie days and laug, 
When liiniiicd hopes ai'ound our liearts 

Like siintncr blossoms sprang! 

Oh, mind ye, hive, liow aft we left 

The deavin' dinsome tonn, 
To wander by the green biirnside. 

And hear its waters croon ? 
The simmer leaves hung ower onr heads, 

The flowers burst round our feet, 
And in the g.'oamin o' the wood 

The thro.ssil whusslit sweet ; 

The tlirossil whusslit in the wood, 

The bTu-n sang to the trees— 
And we, with nature's heart in tune, 

Concerted harmonies; 
And on the kuowe abune the burn 

For boors thegither sat 
Tn the silentness o' joy, till baith 

Wi' very gladness grat. 

^^Ji «J) dear Jeanie Morrison, 

Tears trinlded doun your cheek 
Tike dew-beads on a rose, yet nane 

Had ony power to speak ! 
Tliat was a time, a blessed time, 

"When hearts were fresh and young, 
When freely gushed all feelings forth, 

Unsyllabled— unsung ! 

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, 

Gin I hae been to thee 
As closely twined wi' earliest thochts 

As ye hae been to me ? 
Oh, tell me gin tlieir music fills 

Thine ear as it does mine ! 
Oil, say gin e'er your heart grows grit 

Wi' dreamings o' langsyne ? 

I 've wandered east, I 've wandered west, 

I 've borne a weary lot ; 
But in my wanderings, for or near. 

Ye never were forgot. 
The fount that first burst frae this heart 

Still travels on its way; 
And channels deeper, as it rins, 

The luve o' life's young day. 



dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, 
Since we were sindered young 

1 've never seen your face nor heard 

The music o' your tongue ; 
But I could hug all wretchedness, 

And happy could I die. 
Bid I but ken your heart still dreamed 

O' bygone days and me ! 

"William Motherwell. 



MY HEID IS LIKE TO EEXD, WILLIE. 

My held is like to rend, Willie— 

My heart is like to break ; 
I 'm wearin' afl^my feet, Willie— 

I 'm dyiu' for your sake ! 
Oh, lay your cheek to mine, Willie, 

Your hand on my briest-bane,— 
Oh, say ye '11 think on me, Willie. 

When I am deid and gane ! 

It 's vain to comfort me, Willie — 
Sair grief maun ha'e its will ; 

But let me rest upon your briest 
To sab and greet my fill. 

Let me sit on your knee, Willie- 
Let me shed by your hair. 

And look into the face, Willie, 
I never sail see mair ! 

I 'm siitin' on your knee, Willie, 

For the last time in my life, 

A puir heart-broken thing, Willie, 

A mither, yet nae wife. 
Ay, press your hand upon my heart, 

And press it mair and mair, — 
Or it will burst the silken twine, 

Sae Strang is its despair. 

Oh, wae 's mo for the hour, Willie, 

When we thegither met — 
Oh, wae 's me for the time, Willie, 

Tliat our first tryst was set ! 
Oh, wae 's me for the loanin' green 

Where we were wont to gae, 

And wae 's me for the destinie 

That gart me hive thee sae ! 



304 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Oh, dinna mind mj words, Willie — 

I downa seek to blame ; 
But oh, it 's hard to live, Willie, 

And dree a warld's shame ! 
Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek. 

And hailin' ower your chin : 
Why weep ye sae for worthlessness, 

For sorrow, and for sin ? 

I 'm weary o' this warld, Willie, 

And sick wi' a' I see, 
I canna live as I ha'e lived. 

Or be as I should be. 
But fauld unto your heart, Willie, 

The heart that still is thine, — 
And kiss ance mair the white, white 
cheek 

Ye said was red langsyne. 

A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie — 

A sair stoun' through my heart ; 
Oh, baud me up and let me kiss 

Thy brow ere we twa pairt. 
Anither, and anither yet ! — 

How fast my life-strings break ! — 
Fareweel ! fereweel ! through yon kirk- 
yard 

Step lichtly for my sake ! 

The lav'rock in the lift, Willie, 

That lilts far ower our heid. 
Will sing the morn as merrilie 

Abune the clay-cauld deid ; 
And this green turf we 're sittin' on, 

Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen, 
Will hap the heart that luvit thee 

As warld has seldom seen. 

But oh, remember me, Willie, 

On land where'er ye be — 
And oh, think on the leal, leal heart, 

That ne'er luvit ane but thee ! 
And oh, think on the cauld, cauld mods 

That tile my yellow hair, — 
That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin 

Ye never sail kiss mair ! 

"William Mothekwell. 



THE EOSE AND THE GAUNTLET. 

Low spake the knight to the peasant-girl,— 
" I tell thee sooth, I am belted earl ; 
Fly with me from this garden small. 
And thou shalt sit in my castle's hall ; 

"Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and 

pleasure, 
Joys beyond thy fancy's measure ; 
Here with my sword and horse I stand, 
To bear thee away to my distant land. 

" Take, thou fairest ! this full-blown rose, 
A token of love that as ripely blows." 
With his glove of steel he plucked the token, 
But it fell from his gauntlet crushed and 
broken. 

The maiden exclaimed, — " Thou seest, sir 
knight, 

Thy fingers of iron can only smite ; 

And, like the rose thou hast torn and scat- 
tered, 

I in thy grasp should be Avrecked and shat- 
tered." 

She trembled and blushed, and her glances 

fell; 
But she turned from the knight, and said, 

"Farewell!" 
" Not so," he cried, " will I lose my prize ; 
I heed not thy words, but I read thine eycs.'^ 

He lifted her up in his grasp of steel. 

And he mounted and spurred with furious 

heel; 
But her cry drew forth her hoary sire. 
Who snatched his bow from above the fire. 

Swift from the valley the warrior fled. 
Swifter the bolt of the cross-bow sped ; 
And the weight that pressed on the fleet- 
foot horse 
Was the living man, and the woman's corse. 

That morning the rose was bright of hue; 
That morning the maiden was fair to view ; 
But the evening sun its beauty shed 
On the withered leaves, and the maiden dead. 

John Sterlino. 



MAUI) MULLER. 



803 



MAUD MULLER. 

Matjd IMuLLEE, on a summer's day, 
Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 

Beneatli her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple heauty and rustic health. 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But, when she glanced to the far-off town. 
White from its hill-slope looking down. 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 



A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 

The judge rode slowly down the lane. 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 

He drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid. 

And ask a draught from the spring that 

flowed 
Through the meadow, across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled 
And filled for him her small tin cup. 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

"Thanks!" said the judge, "a sweeter 

draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees. 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees; 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered 

whether 
Die cloud in the west would bring foul 

weather. 

43 



And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 
And her graceful ancles, bare and brown, 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel-eyes. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me ! 
That I the judge's bride might be! 

" He would di-ess me up in silks so fine, 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat, 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 

"I 'd dress my mother so grand and gay. 
And the baby should have a new toy each 
day. 

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the 

poor, 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

The judge looked back as he climbed the hill. 
And saw Maud Muller standing still : 

" A form more fair, a face more sweet. 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 

"x\nd her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

" "Would she were mine, and I to-day. 
Like her, a harvester of hay. 

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

" But low of cattle, and song of birds. 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 

But he thought of his sister, proud and cold, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the judge rode on, 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When he hummed in court an old love tune; 



S06 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And the young girl mused beside the well, 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He wedded a wife of richest dower, 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow. 
He watched a picture come and go; 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 
He longed for the wayside well instead, 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, 
To dream of meadows and clover blooms ; 

And the proud man sighed with a secret pain, 
" Ah, that I were free again ! 

"Free as when I rode that day 

"Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
And many children played round her door. 

But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain, 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot. 

And she heard the little spring brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall, 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein. 

And, gazing down with a timid grace. 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls ; 

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned. 
The tallow candle an astral burned ; 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug. 
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 



A manly form at; her side she saw. 
And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Saying only, "It might have been." 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge ! 

God pity them both ! and pity us all. 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall ; 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen. 

The saddest are these: " It might have been! " 

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 
Roll the stone from its grave away ! 

Jonif Gkeenleaf Whittieu. 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye 

at hame, 
And a' the warld to sleep are gane; 
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my 

ee. 
When ray gudeman lies sound by me. 

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and socht me for 
his bride ; 

But, saving a croun, he had naething else be- 
side. 

To mak that croun a pund, young Jamie gaed 
to sea ; 

And the croun and the pund were baith for 
me! 

He hadna been awa a week but only twa. 
When my mother she fell sick, and the cow 

was etown awa ; 
My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at 

the sea— 
And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me. 



BERTHA IN THE LANE. 



BO-? 



My father cou'dna work, and my mother 

cou'dna spin ; 
I toiled day and uicht, but tlieir bread I 

cou'dna win ; 
Auld Rob maintained tbera baith, and, wi' 

tears in his ee. 
Said, " Jenny, for their sakes, oh marry me ! " 



My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie 

back ; 
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it 

w as a wrack ; 
The ship it was a wrack ! Why didna Jamie 

dee? 
Or, why do I live to say, Wae 's me ? 



My father argued sair — my mother didna 

speak. 
But she lookit in my face till my heart was 

like to break ; 
Sao they gied him my hand, though my heart 

was in the sea ; 
And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me. 



I hadna been a wife, a week but only four. 
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I cou'dna think 

it he, 
Till he said, " I 'm come back for to marry 

thee!" 



Oh sair, sair did w6 greet, and muckle did 

we say ; 
"We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves 

away : 
I wish I were dead, but I 'm no like to dee ; 
And why do I live to say, Wae 's me ? 



1 gang Uke a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a 

sin; 
But I '11 do my best a gudo wife to be, 
For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me. 

Lady Anne Baenabo. 



BERTHA IN THE LANE. 

Put the broidery-frame away, 

For my sewing is all done ! 
The last thread is used to-day, 

And I need not join it on. 

Though the clock stands at the noon, 

I am weary ! I have sewn, 

Sweet, for thee, a weddtng-gown. 

Sister, help me to the bed, 

And stand near me, dearest-sweet! 

Do not shrink nor be afraid. 
Blushing with a sudden heat! 
No one standeth in the street! — 
By God's love I go to meet, 
Love I thee with love complete. 

Lean thy face down ! drop it in 
These two hands, that I may hold 

'Twixt their palms thy cheek and chin, 
Stroking back the curls of gold. 
'T is a fair, fair face, in sooth — 
Larger eyes and redder mouth 
Than mine were in my first youth ! 

Thou art younger by seven years — 
Ah! — so bashful at my gaze 

That the lashes, hung with tears, 
Grow too heavy to upraise ? 
I would wound thee by no touch 
Which thy shyness feels as such — 
Dost thou mind me, dear, so much ? 

Have I not been nigh a mother 
To thy sweetness — tell me, dear? 

Have we not loved one another 
Tenderly, from year to year? 
Since our dying mother mild 
Said, with accents undefiled, 
" Child, be mother to this child ! " 

Mother, mother, up in heaven, 
Stand up on the jasper sea, 

And be witness I have given 
All the gifts requu-ed of me ; — 
Hope that blessed me, bliss that crowned. 
Love that loft me with a wound, 
Life itself, that turned around ! 



508 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Mother, mother, thou art kiud, 
Thou art stautllng in the room, — • 

111 a molten glory shrined, 
That rays off into the gloom ! 
But thy smile is bright and bleak, 
Like cold waves — I cannot speak ; 
I sob in it, and grow weak. 

Ghostly mother, keep aloof 

One hour longer from my soul — 

For I still am thinking of 

Earth's warm-beating joy and dole ! 
On my finger is a ring 
Which I still see glittering, 
When the night hides every thing. 

Little sister, thou art pale ! 

Ah, I have a wandering brain — 
But I lose that fever-bale, 

And my thoughts grow calm again. 

Lean down closer — closer still ! 

I have words thine ear to fill, — 

And Avould kiss thee at my will. 

Dear, I heard thee in the spring, 
Thee and Eobert — through the trees, — 

When we all went gathering 
Boughs of May-bloom for the bees. 
Do not start so ! think instead 
How the sunshine overhead 
Seemed to trickle through the shade. 

What a day it was, that day ! 

Hills and vales did openly 
Seem to heave and throb away, 

At the sight of the great sky ; 

And the silence, as it stood 

In the glory's golden flood. 

Audibly did bud — and bud ! 

Through the winding hedgerows green. 
How we wandered, I and you, — 

With the bowery tops shut in. 

And the gates that showed the vicAV — 
How we talked there ! thrushes soft 
Sang our pauses out, — or oft 
Bleatings took tliom, from the croft. 

Till the pleasure, grown too strong. 

Left me muter evermore ; 
And, the winding road being long, 

I walked out of sight, before ; 



And so, wrapt in musings fond. 
Issued (past the wayside pond) 
On the meadow-lands beyond. 

I sat down beneath the beech 
Which leans over to the lane. 

And the far sound of your speech 
Did not promise any pain ; 
And I blessed you, full and free, 
With a smile stooped tenderly 
O'er the May-flowers on my knee. 

But the sound grew into word 

As the speakers drew more near — 

Sweet, forgive me that I heard 
What you wished me not to hear. 
Do not weep so — do not shake — 
Oh, — I heard thee, Bertha, make 
Good true answers for my sake. 

Yes, and he too ! let him stand 

In thy thoughts, untouched by blame, 

Could he help it, if my hand 

He had claimed with hasty claim ! 
That was wrong perhaps — but then 
Such things be — and will, again ! 
Women cannot judge for men. 

Had he seen thee, when he swore 
He woiild love but me alone ? 

Thou wert absent — sent before 
To our kin in Sidmouth town. 
When he saw thee, who art best 
Past compare, and loveliest. 
He but judged thee as the rest. 

Could we blame him with grave words, 
Thou and I, dear, if we might ? 

Thy brown eyes have looks like birds 
Flying straightway to the light; 
Mine are older. — Hush ! — look out — 
Up the street ! Is none Avithout ? 
How the poplar swings about! 

And that hour — beneath the beech— 
When I listened in a dream, 

And he said, in his deep speech. 
That he owed me all esteem — • 
Each word swam in on my brain 
W^ith a dim, dilating pain. 
Till it burst with that last strain — 



BERTHA IN THE LANE. 



309 



I fell flooded with a dark, 
In the silence of a swoon — 

When I rose, still, cold and stark. 
There was night — I saw the moon ; 
And the stars, each in its place, 
And the May-blooms on the grass, 
Seemed to wonder what I was. 

And I walked as if apart 

From myself when I could stand — 
And I pitied my own heart. 

As if I held it in my hand — 

Somewhat coldly — with a sense 

Of fulfilled benevolence. 



And I answered coldly too, 
When you met me at the door ; 

And I only heard the dew 
Dripping from me to the floor; 
And the flowers I bade you see, 
Were too withered for the bee — 
As my life, henceforth, for me. 

Do not v<-eep so — dear — heart-warm ! 
It Avas best as it befell ! 

If I say he did me harm, 

I speak wild — I am not well. 
All his words were kind and good- 
ITe esteemed me ! Only blood 
Euns so faint in womanhood. 

Then I always was too grave — 
Liked the saddest ballads sung — 

With that look, besides, we have 
In our faces, who die young. 
I had died, dear, all the same — 
Life's long, joyous, jostling game 
Is too loud for my meek shame. 

We are so unlike each other, 
Thou and I ; that none could guess 

We were children of one mother. 
But for mutual tenderness. 
Thou art rose-lined from the cold, 
And meant, verily, to hold 
Life's pure pleasures manifold. 

I am pale as crocus grows 
Close beside a rose-tree's root ! 

Whosoe'er would reach the rose. 
Treads the crocus underfoot — 



I, like May-bloom on thorn tree- 
Tliou, like merry summer-bee ! 
Fit, that I be plucked for thee. 

Yet who plucks me ? — no one mourns- 
I have lived my season out — 

And now die of my own thorns, 
Which I could not live without. 
Sweet, be merry ! How the light 
Comes and goes ! If it be night, 
Keep the candles in my sight. 

Are there footsteps at the door ? 
Look out quickly. Yea, or nay ? 

Some one might be waiting for 
Some last word that I might say. 
Nay ? So best ! — So angels would 
Stand oif clear from deathly road — 
Not to cross the sight of God. 

Colder grow my hands and feet — 
When I wear the shroud I made, 

Let the folds lie straight and neut, 
And the rosemary be spread — 
That if any friend should come, 
(To see thee, sweet !) all the room 
May be lifted out of gloom. 

And, dear Bertha, let me keep 
On my hand this little ring, 

Which at nights, when others sleep, 
I can still see glittering. 
Let me wear it out of sight. 
In the grave — where it will light 
All the dark up, day and night. 

On that grave, drop not a tear! 

Else, though fathom-deep the place, 
Through the woollen shroud I wear 

I shall feel it on my face. 

Rather smile there, blessed one, 

Thinking of me in the sun — 

Or forget me — smilhig on! 

Art thou near me ? nearer? so! 
Kiss me close upon the eyes, 

That the earthly light may go 
Sweetly as it used to rise — 
When I watched the morning gray 
Strike, betwixt the hills, tlie way 
Tie was sure to come that day. 



310 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



So — no more vain words be said ! 
The hosannas nearer roll — 

Mother smile now on thy dead — 
I am death-strong in my soul ! 
Mystic Dove alit on cross, 
Guide the poor bird of the snows 
Through tlie snow-wind above loss ! 

Jesus, victim, comprehending 
Love's divine self-abnegation — 

Cleanse my love in its self-spending. 
And absorb the poor libation ! 
Wind my thread of life up higher. 
Up through angels' hands of fire! — 
I aspire while I expire ! — 

ELIZABEin BaKRETT BkOWNIxNG. 



THEN. 



T crvE thee treasures hour by hour, 
That old-time princes asked in vain. 
And pined for in their useless power, 
Or died of passion's eager pain. 

I give thee love as God gives light, 
Aside from merit, or from prayer, 
Eejoicing in its own delight, 
And freer than the lavish air. 

I give thee prayers, like jewels strung 
On golden threads of hope and fear ; 
And tenderer thoughts than ever hung 
In a sad angel's pitying tear. 

As earth pours freely to the sea 
Her thousand streams of wealth untold, 
So flov/s my silent life to thee, 
Glad that its very sands are gold. 

What cave I for thy carelessness ? 
I give from depths that overflow, 
Eegardless that their power to bless 
Tliy spirit cannot sound or know. 

Far lingering on a distant dawn 
My triumph shines, more sweet than late ; 
When from these mortal mists withdrawn. 
Thy heart shall know me — I can wait. 

BosE Terry. 



THE FOESAKEIT MEEMAK 

Come, dear children, let us away ! 

Down and away below, 
Now my brothers call from the bay ; 
Now the great winds shorewards blow; 
Now the salt tides seaward flow ; 
Now the wild white horses play, 
Champ and chatFand toss in the spray. 

Cliildren dear, let us away ; 
This way, this way. 

Call her once before you go. 

Call once yet. 
In a voice that she will know : 

" Margaret ! Margaret ! " 
Children's voices shoiUd be dear 
(Call once more) to a mother's ear; 
Children's voices wild with pain. 

Surely, she will come again. 
Call her once, and come away; 

This way, this way. 
"Mother dear, we cannot stay," 
The wild white horses foam and fret, 

Margaret! Margaret! 

Come, dear children, come away down. 

Call no more. 
One last look at the white-walled town. 
And the little gray church on the windy shore, 

Then come down. 
She will not come, though you call all day. 

Come away, come away. 

Children deal", was it yesterday 

We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? 
In the caverns where we lay. 
Through the surf and through the swell, 

The far-ofl" sound of a silver bell ? 

Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep. 

Where the winds are all asleep ; 

Where the spent lights quiver and gleam ; 

Where the salt weed sways in the stream ; 

Where the sea-beasts ranged all around 

Feed in the ooze of their pasture ground ; 

Where the sea-snakes coil and twine. 

Dry their mail, and bask in the brine ; 

Where great whales come sailing by, 

Sail and saO, with imshut eye, 

Eound the world forever and aye ? 

When did music come this way ? 
Children dear, was it yesterday ? 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 



Children dear, was it yesterday 
(Call yet once) that she went away? 
Once she sat with you and me, 

On a red gold throne in the heart of the 

sea, 
And the youngest sat on her knee. 
She combed its bright hair and she tended it 

well, 
Wiien down swung the sound of the far-oif 

bell ; 
Slie sighed, she looked up through the clear 

green sea ; 
She said, " I must go, for my kinsfolk pray 
In the httle gray church on the sliore to-day. 
'T will be Easter-time in the world — ah me ! 
And I lose my poor soul, merman, here with 

thee." 
I said, '' Go up, dear heart, through the waves ; 
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind 

sea-caves." 
She smiled, she went up through the surf in 

the bay ; 
Children dear, was it yesterday? 

Children dear, were we long alone? 
" The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; 
Long prayers," I said, " in the world they say. 
Come," I said, and we rose through the surf 

in the bay. 
We went up the beach in the sandy down 
"Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white- 
walled town, 
Through the narrow-paved streets, where all 

w^as still. 
To the little gray church on the windy hill. 
From the church came a murmur of folk at 

their prayers. 
But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. 
We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn 

with rains. 
And we gazed up the aisle through the small 
leaded panes. 
She sat by the pillar ; we saw her clear ; 
" Margaret, hist ! come quick, we are here. 
Dear heart," I said, " we are here alone. 
The sea grows stormy, the little ones 
moan." 
But all, she gave me never a look, 
?ov her eyes were sealed to the holy book. 
" Loud prays the priest ; shut stands the 
door." 



Come away, children, call no more, 
Come away, come down, call no more. 

Down, down, down, 

Down to the depths of the sea; 
She sits at her wheel in the humming town 

Singing most joyfully. 
Hark what she sings : " Oh joy, oh joy, 
For the humming street, and the child with 

its toy. 
For the priest and the bell, and the holy 
well, 

For the wheel where I spun, 

And the blessed light of the sun." 

And so she sings her fill. 

Singing most joyfully. 

Till the shuttle falls from her hand, 

And the whizzing wheel stands still. 
She steals to the window and looks at the 
sand ; 

And over the sand at the sea ; 

And her eyes are set in a stare ; 

And anon there breaks a sigh. 

And anon there drops a tear. 

From a sorrow-clouded eye. 

And a heart sorrow-laden, 
A long, long sigh, 
For the cold strange eyes of a little mermaiden, 
And the gleam of her golden hair. 

Come away, away, children, 
Come, children, come down. 
The hoarse wind blows colder ; 
Lights shine in the town. 
She will start from her slumber 
When gusts shake the door ; 
Slie will hear the winds howling, 
Will hear the waves roar ; 
We shall see, while above us 
The waves roar and whirl, 
A ceiling of amber, 
A pavement of pearl. 
Singing, " Here came a mortal. 
But faithless was she. 
And alone dwell forever 
The kings of the sea." 

But children, at midnight, 
When soft the winds blow. 
When clear falls the moonlight, 
When spring-tides are low, 



312 



POEMS OF LOVE 



"When sweet airs come seaward 
From hcatlis starred with broom, 
And Ingli rocks throw mildly 
On the blanched sands a gloom ; 
Up the still, glistening beaches. 
Up the creeks we Avill hie ; 
Over banks of bright seaweed 
The ebb-tide leaves dry. 
We will gaze from the sand-hills, 
At the white sleeping town ; 
At the church on the hill-side — 
And then come back, down. 
Singing, " There dwells a loved one, 
But cruel is she ; 
She left lonely forever 
The kings of the sea." 

Matthew Arnold. 



EXCUSE. 
I TOO have suffered. Yet I know 
She is not cold, though she seems so ; 
She is not cold, she is not hght; 
But our ignoble souls lack might. 

She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh, 
While "we for hopeless passion die; 
Yet she could love, those eyes declare. 
Were but men nobler than they are. 

Eagerly once her gracious ken 
Was turned upon the sons of men ; 
But light the serious visage grew — 
She looked, and smiled, and saw them through. 

Our petty souls, our strutting wits. 
Our labored puny passion-fits — 
All, may she scorn them still, till we 
Scorn them as bitterly as she ! 

Yet oh, that Fate would let her see 
One of some worthier race than we — 
One for whose sake she once might prove 
How deeply she who scorns can love. 

His eyes be like the starry lights — 
His voice like sounds of summer nights — 
In all his lovely mien let pierce 
The magic of the universe ! 

And she to him will i-each her hand, 
And gazing in his eyes will stand. 
And know hor friend, and weep for glee. 
And cry — Long, long I've looked for thee! 



Then will she weep — with smiles, till then 
Coldly she mocks the sons of men. 
Till then her lovely eyes maintain 
Their gay, unw\ivering, deep disdain. 

Matthew Arnoiu. 



INDIFFEPvENCE. 

I MUST not say that thou wert true. 
Yet let me say that thou wert fair ; 
And they that lovely face who view. 
They will not ask if truth be there. _ 

Truth — w^hat is truth ? Two bleeding hearts 
Wounded by men, by foi-tune tried, 
Outwearied with their lonely parts. 
Vow to beat henceforth side by side. 

The world to them was stern and drear ; 
Their lot was but to weep and moan. 
Ah, let them keep their faith sincere, 
For neither could subsist alone ! 

But souls whom some benignant breath 
Has charmed at birth from gloom and care, 
These ask no love — these plight no faith, 
For they arc happy as they are. 

The world to them may homage make. 
And garlands for their forehead weave ; 
And what the world can give, they take — 
But they bring more than they receive. 

They smile upon the world ; their ears 
To one demand alone are coy. 
They will not give us love and tears — 
They bring us light, and warmth, and joy. 

It was not love that heaved thy breast, 
Fair child ! it was the bliss within. 
Adieu ! and say that one, at least, 
Was just to Avliat he did not win. 

Matthew Abnouj. 



SOXG. 



My silks and fine array, 

My smiles and languished air. 

By love are driven away, 
And molfrnful lean despair 

Brings me yew to deck my grave ; 

Such end true lovers have. 



ALLAN PERCY. 



3]S 



His face is fair as heaveu 

. When springing buds nnfold ; 

Oil, Avliy to Lim was 't given, 

Wliose heart is wintry cold ? 
His breast is love's all-worsliipped tomb 
"Where all love's pilgrims come. 

Bring me an axe and spade, 

Bring me a winding-sheet; 
When I my grave have made, 

Let winds and tempests beat ! 
Then down I '11 lie, as cold as clay, 
True love doth pass away ! 

William Blake. 



ALLAN PERCY. 

It was a beauteous lady richly dressed ; 

Around her neck are chains of jewels rare ; 
A velvet mantle shrouds her snowy breast. 
And a young child is softly slumbering 
there. 
In her own arms, beneath that glowing sun. 
She bears him onward to tlie greenwood 
tree; 
Is the dun heath, thou fair and thoughtless 
one, 
The place where an earl's sou should cra- 
dled be ? 

Lullaby! 

Though a proud earl be father to my child. 

Yet on the sward my blessed babe shall lie ; 
Let the winds lull him with their murmurs 
wild. 
And toss the green boughs upward to the 
sky. 
Well knows that earl how long my spirit 
pined. 
I loved a forester, glad, bold, and free ; 
And had I wedded as my heart inclined, 
My child were cradled 'neath the green- 
wood tree. 

Lullaby. 

Slumber thou still, my innocent — mine own. 
While I call back the dreams of other days. 
In the deep forest I feel less alone 
Than when those palace splendors mock 
my gaze. 

44 



Fear not ! my arm shall bear thee safely back 
I need no squire, no page with bended kneq 

To bear my baby through the wildwood tracls; 
Where Allan Percy used to roam with me 
Lullaby ! 

Here I can sit ; and while the Iresh wind blows, 

Waving the ringlets of thy shining hair. 
Giving thy cheek a deeper tinge of rose, 
I can dream dreams that comfort my de- 
spair ; 
I can make visions of a different home. 

Such as we hoped in- other days might be ; 
There no proud earl's unwelcome footsteps 
come — 
There, Allan Percy, I am safe with thee ! 
Lullaby-! 

Thou art mine own — I '11 bear thee where I 
list. 
Far from the dull, proud tower and donjon 
keep ; 
From my long hair the pearl chains I'll un- 
twist. 
And with a peasant's heart sit down and 
weep. 
Thy glittering broidered robe, my precious 
one. 
Changed for a simpler covering shall be ; 
And I will dream thee AUan Percy's son, 
And think poor Allan guards thy sleep 
with me. 

Lullaby! 

Caroline Norton. 



CHANGES. 

Whom first we love, you know, we seldom 

wed. 
Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not 
The thing we planned it out ere hope was 

dead. 
And then, we women cannot choose our lot. 

Much must be borne which it is hard to bear ; 
Much given away which it were sweet to 

keep. 
God help us all ! Avho need, indeed, His care. 
And yet, I know the Shepherd loves His 

sheep. 



314 POEMS OF LOVE. 


My little boy begins to babble now 


1 
Thou Avast lovelier than the roses 


Upon luy knee Lis earliest infant prayer. 


In their prime ; 


He has his lather's eager eyes, I know ; 


Thy voice excelled the closes 


And, thcj^ say, too, his mother's sunny hair. 


Of sweetest rhyme ; 




Thy heai-t was as a river 


But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee. 


Without a main. 


And I can feel his hght breath come and go, 


Would I had loved thee never, 


I think of one (Heaven help and pity me !) 


Florence Vane ! 


Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago ; 






But, fairest, coldest wonder I 


Who might have been . . . ah, what I dare 


Thy glorious clay 


not think ! 


Lieth the green sod under — 


We are all changed. . God judges for us best. 


Alas, the day ! 


God help us do our duty, and not shrink, 


And it boots not to remember 


And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest. 


Thy disdain. 




To quicken love's pale ember, 


But blame us women not, if some appear 


Florence Vane. 


Too cold at times ; and some too gay and hght. 




Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard 


The lilies of the valley 


to bear. 


By young graves weep ; 


Who knows the past? and who can judge us 


The daisies love to dally 


right? 


Where maidens sleep. 




May their bloom, in beauty vying, 


Ah, were we judged by what we might have 


Never wane 


been, 


Where thine earthly part is lying, 


And not by what we are — too apt to fall ! 


Florence Vane I 


My little child — he sleeps and smiles between 


PniLip Pendleton Cooss. 


These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall 




know all ! 

EOBEKT BULWER LyTTON. 








MINSTEEL'S SONG. 
On, sing unto my roundelay ! 


^FLORENCE VANE. ^ 




Oh, drop the briny tear with me I 


I LOVED thee long and dearly. 


Dance no more at holiday ; 


Florence Vane; 


Like a running river be. 


My life's bright dream and early 


My love is dead^ 


Hath come again ; 


Gone to his death ied, 


I renew, in my fond vision, 


All under tlie willoio tree. 


My heart's dear pain — 




My hopes, and thy derision, 
Florence Vane. 


Black his hair as the winter night, 




White his neck as the summer snow, 


The ruin, lone and hoary. 


Euddy his face as the morning hght ; 


The ruin old. 


Cold he lies in the grave below. 


Where thou didst hark my story. 


My love is dead, 


At even told — 


Gone to his death led, 


That spot — the hues Elysian 


All under the willoio tree. 


Of sky and plain — 




I treasure in my vision. 


Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note ; 


' Florence Vane. 


Quick in dance as thought can be ; 



ANNABEL LEE. 316 


Deft his tabor, cudgel stout ; 




Oh, ho lies by the willow-tvcc ! 


ANN.U5EL LEE. 


My love is dead, 




Gone to Jiis death led, 


It was many and many a year ago, 


All ttndcr the willow tree. 


In a kingdom by the sea. 




That a maiden lived, whom you may k low 


Hark! the raven flaps his wing 


By tlie name of Annabel Lee ; 


In the briered dell below ; 


And this maiden slie lived with no other 


Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing 


thought 


To the nightmares as they go. 


Tban to love, and be loved by me. 


Mij love is dead^ 




Gone to his death led, 


I was a child and she was a child. 


All under the icilloio tree. 


In this kingdom by the sea ; 




But we loved with a love that was more than 


See ! the white moon shines on high ; 


love, 


"Whiter is my true-love's shroud. 


I and my Annabel Lee — 


Whiter than the morning sky, 


With a love that the winged seraphs of 


Whiter than the evening cloud. 


heaven 


My love is dead. 


Coveted her and me. 


Gone to his death led. 




All under the icilloio tree 


i^d this was the reason that, long ago, 




In this kingdom by the sea. 


Here, upon my true-love's grave 


A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 


Shall the barren flowers be laid, 


My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 


Nor one holy saint to save 


So that her high-born kinsmen came, 


All the coldness of a maid. 


And bore her away from me. 


My love is dead, 


To shut her up in a sepulchre, 


Gone to his death led, 


la this kingdom by the sea. 


All under the icilloio tree. 






The angels, not so happy in heaven, 


Wifcli my hands I '11 bind the briers 


Went envying her and me. 


Kound his holy corse to gre; 


Yes ! that wa-s the reason (as all men know) 


Ouphant fairy, light your fires ; 
Here my body still shall be. 


In this kingdom by the sea. 


That the wind came out of the cloud by 
night, 
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 


My love is dead, 


Gone to his deatJt led. 




All under the willoio tree. 


But our love it w^is stronger by far than the 




love 


Come, with acorn-cup and thorn, 


Of those who were older than we. 


Drain my heart's blood away ; 


Of many far wiser than we; 


Life and all its good I scorn. 


And neither the angels in heaven above. 


Dance by night, or feast by day. 


Nor the demons down under the sea. 


My love is dead, 


Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 


Gone to his death led, 


Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 


All under the willoio tree. 






For the moon never beams without bringing 


Water-witches, crowned with reji;es, 


me dreams 


Bear me to your lethal tide. 


Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 


I die ! I come ! my true love waits. 


And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright 


Thus the damsel spake, and died. 


eyes 


TuoMAS Chattebton. 


Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 



316 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And so, all the night-tide I lie down by tlie 

side 
Of ray darling, my dai-ling, my life, and my 
bride, 
In her sepulchre there by the sea. 
In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

Edgab Allah Pob. 



EVELYN HOPE. 

Beautiful Evelyn Ilope is dead ! 

Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; 

She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, 
Beginning to die, too, in the glass. 

Little has yet been changed, I think ; 
The shutters are shut — no light may pass. 

Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink. 

Sixteen years old when she died ! 

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name — 
It was not her time to love ; beside, 

Her life had many a hope and aim. 
Duties enough and little cares; 

And now was quiet, now astir — 
Till God's hand beckoned unawares. 

And the sweet white brow is all of her. 

Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? 

"What ! your soul was pure and true ; 
The good stars met in your horoscope. 

Made you of spirit, fire and dew ; 
JVl^d just because I was thrice as old. 

And our paths in the world diverged so 
wide, 
Each was naught to each, must I be told? 

We were fellow-mortals — naught beside ? 

No, indeed ! for God above 

Is great to grant, as mighty to make, 
And creates the love to reward the love; 

I claim you still, for my own love's sake ! 
Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet, 

Through worlds I shall troiverse, not a few; 
Much is to learn and much to forget 

Ere the time be come for taking you. 

But the time will come — at last it will — 
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall 
say, 

In the lower earth — in the years long still — 
That body and soul so gay ? 



Why your hair was amber I shall divine, 
And your moiith of your own geranium's 
red— 

And what you would do with me, in fine, 
In the new life come in the old one's stead. 

I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, 

Given up myself so many times, 
Gained me the gains of various men. 

Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; 
Yet one thing — one — in my soul's full scope, 

Either I missed or itself missed me — 
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! 

What is the issue? let us see ! 

I loved you Evelyn, all the while ; 

My heart seemed full as it could hold — 
There was place and to spare for the frank 
young smile 
And the red young mouth and the hair's 
young gold. 
So, hush! I will give you this leaf to keep ; 
See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand. 
There, that is our secret ! go to sleep ; 

You wiU wake, and remember, and under- 
stand. 

I'OBEET BeOWKINO. 



HIGHLAND MAPvY. 

Y"e banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Y''our waters never drumlie! 
There simmer first unfald her robes 

And there she langest tarry ! 
For there I took the last fareweel 

0' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloomed the gay green bii'k 1 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ! 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasped her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings. 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' monie a vow and locked embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
An-d pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore ourselves asunder ; 



AUX ITALIEXS. 



511 



But, oil ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt uiy flower sac early ! 
Now green 's the soil, and cauld 's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

Oh pale, pale now, those rosy lips 

I aft hae kissed sae fondly ! 
Aiid closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

KOBEET BUKNS. 



TO MARY IX HEAY^K 

Tnot) lingering star, -with less'niug ray. 

That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
Again thou nsherest in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
Mary ! dear, departed shade ! 

"Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Ilear'st thou the groans that rend his 
breast? 

That sacred hour can I forget. 

Can I forget the hallowed grove. 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love? 
Etei'nity will not efface. 

Those recoi'ds dear of transports past — 
Thy image at our last embrace ! 

Ah ! little thought we 't was our last ! 

Ayr, gurgling, kisced his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, 
green ; 
The fragrant birch, mid hawthorn hoar. 

Twined amorous round the raptured scene. 
The flowers spnmg wanton to be prest. 

The bii'ds sang love on every spray, 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memory Avakes, 
And fondly broods with miser care ; 

Time but th' impression deeper makes, 
Aa streams their channels deeper wear. 



My Mary ! dear, departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Ilear'st thou the groans that rend his 
breast ? 



AUX ITALIENS. 

At Paris it was, at the opera there ; 

And she looked like a queen in a book that 
night, 
With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair. 

And the brooch on her breast so bright. 

Of all the operas that Verdi wrote, 
The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore ; 

And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note. 
The souls in purgatory. 

The moon on the tower slept soft as snow ; 
And who was not thrilled in the strangest 
way, 
As we heard him sing, while the gas burned 
low, 
" Hon ti scordar di me ? " 

The emperor there, in his box of state. 
Looked grave ; as if he had just then seen 

The red flag wave from the city gate, 
Where his eagles in bronze had been. 

The empress, too, had a tear in her eye : 
You 'd have said that her fancy had gone 
back again, 

For one moment, under the old blue sky, 
To the old glad life in Spain. 

Well ! there in our front row box we sat. 
Together, my bride betrothed and I ; 

My gaze was fixed on my opera liat, 
And hers on the stage hard by. 

And both Avere silent, and both were sad ; — 
Like a queen she leaned on her full white 
arm. 

With that regal, indolent air she had ; 
So confident of her charm ! 



318 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



I have not a doubt slie was tliinking then 
Of her former lord, good soul that he Avas, 

Who died the richest aud roundest of men, 
The Marquis of Carabas. 

I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven, 
Through a needle's eye he had not to pass ; 

•I wish him well, for the jointure given 
To my lady of Carabas. 

Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love. 
As I had not been thinking of aught for 
years ; 

Till over my eyes there began to move 
Something that felt like tears. 

I thought of the dress that she wore last time, 
When we stood, 'neath the cypress trees 
together. 

In that lost land, in that soft clime, 
In the crimson evening weather ; 

Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot) ; 

And her warm white neck in its golden 
chain ; 
And her fuU, soft hair, just tied in a knot. 

And foiling loose again; 

And the jasmine flower in her fair young 
breast ; 
(Oh the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine 
flower !) 
And the one bird singing alone to his nest ; 
And the one star over the tower. 

I thought of om- little quarrels and strife, 
And the letter that brouglit me back my 
ring; 

And it all seemed then, in the waste of life, 
Such a very little thing ! 

For I thought of her grave below the hill, 
Which the sentinel cypress tree stands over ; 

And I thought, " Were she only living still, 
How I could forgive her and love her ! '' 

And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that 
hour, 

And of liow, after all, old things are best. 
That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower 

Which she used to wear in her breast. 



It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, 
It made me creep, and it made me cold I 

Like the scent that steals from the crumbling 
sheet 
Where a mummy is half unrolled. 

And I turned, aud looked : she was sitting 
there, 

In a dim box over the stage ; and drest 
In that muslin dress, with that full, sett hair. 

And that jasmine in her breast! 

I was here, and she was there ; 

And the glittering horse shoe curved be- 
tween : — 
From my bride betrothed, with her raven 
hair 
And her sumptuous, scornful mien, 

To my eai'ly love, with her eyes downcast, 
And over her priiui'ose face the shade, 

(In short, from the futurd back to the past) 
There was but a step to be made. 

To my early love from my future bride 
One moment I looked. Then I stole to the 
door, 
I traversed the passage; aud down at her 
side 
I was sitting, a moment more. 

My thinking of her, or the music's strain, 
Or something which never will be exprest, 

Had brought her back from the grave again, 
With the jasmine in her breast. 

She is not dead, and she is not wed I 
But she loves me now, and she loved me 
then ! 
And the very JElrst word tliat her sweet lips 
said. 
My heart grew youthful again. 

The marchioness there, of Carabas, 

She is wealtliy, and young, and handsome 
still ; 

And but for lier . . . well, Ave '11 let that pass ; 
She may marry whomever slie will. 

But I will marry my own first love. 

With her pi'imrose face, for old things are 
best; 



LAODAMIA. 



819 



And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above 
The brooch in my hxdy's breast. 

The world is filled with folly and sin, 
And love must cling where it can, I say : 

For beauty is easy enough to win ; 
But one is n't loved every day. 

And I think, in the lives of most Avomen and 
men. 
There's a moment when all would go 
smooth and even. 
If only the dead could find out when 
To come back and be forgiven. 

But oh the smell of that jasmine flower ! 

And oh that music ! and oh the way 
That voice rang out from the donjon tower, 

JsTon ti seordar di me, 
Noil ti seordar di me ! 

EOBEET BULWER LTTTON. 



TOO LATE. 

" Dowglas, Dowglas, tendir and treu." 

Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, 
In the old likeness that I knew, 

I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

Never a scornful word should grieve ye, 
I 'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do ; — 

Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

Oh, to call back the days that are not ! 

My eyes were blinded, your words were few: 
Do you know the truth now, up in heaven, 

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ? 

I never was worthy of you, Douglas ; 

Not half worthy the like of you : 
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows — 

I love you, Douglas, tender and true. 

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, 
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew ; 

As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Dou- 
glas, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ! 

Dinah Maria Mttloce. 



LAODAMIA. 

" With sacrifice, before the rising morn, 

Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired; 

And from th' infernal gods, 'mid shades for- 
lorn 

Of night, my slaughtered lord have I re- 
quired ; 

Celestial pity I again implore ; — 

Restore him to my sight— great Jove, restore ! " 

So speaking, and by fervent love endoAved 
With faith, the suppliant heavenward lifts 

her hands ; 
While, like the sun emerging from a cloud. 
Her countenance brightens and her eye ex- 
pands ; 
Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature 

grows ; 
And she expects the issue in repose. 

Oh terror ! what hath she perceived ? — oh joy ! 
What doth she look on ? — whom doth she be- 
hold? 
Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy ? 
His vital presence ? his corporeal mould ? 
It is — if sense deceive her not — 't is he! 
And a god leads him — winged Mercury ! 

Mild Hermes spake — and touched her with 

his wand 
That calms all fear : " Such grace hath crov/n- 

ed thy prayer, 
Laodamia ! thii,t at Jove's command 
Thy husband walks the paths of upper air; 
He comes to tarry with thee three hours' 

space ; 
Accept the gift, behold him face to face ! " 

Forth sprang the impassioned queen her lord 

to clasp ; 
Again that consummation she essayed ; 
But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp 
As often as that eager grasp was made. 
The phantom parts — but parts to reunite. 
And reassume his place before her sight. 

" Protesilaus, lo ! thy guide is gone ! 
Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice : 
This is our palace, — yonder is thy throne ; 
Speak ! and the floor thou tread'st on will re- 
joice. 



320 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Not to appal me have the gods bestowed 
This precious boon, and blest a sad abode." 

" Great Jove, Laodamia, doth not leave 
His gifts imperfect : — spectre though I be, 
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive ; 
But in reward of thy fidelity. 
And something also did my Avortli obtain ; 
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. 

"Thou know'st, the Delphic oracle foretold 
That the first Greek who touched the Trojan 

strand 
Should die; but me the threat could not 

withhold — 
A generous cause a victim did demand ; 
And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain ; 
A self-devoted chief, by Hector slain." 

" Supreme of heroes ! bravest, noblest, best! 
Thy matchless courage I bewail no more, 
"Which then, when tens of thousands were 

deprest 
By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore ; 
Thou found'st — and I forgive thee — ^liere thou 

art— 
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. 

" But tliou, though capable of sternest deed, 
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave ; 
And he whose power restores thee hath de- 
creed 
Tliou shouldst -^lude the malice of the grave ; 
Eedundont are thy locks, thy lips as fair 
As when their breath enriched Thessalian air. 

" No spectre greets me, — no vain shadow 

this ; 
Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side! 
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial 

kiss 
To me, this day a second time thy bride ! " 
Jove frowned in heaven ; the conscious ParcjB 

threw 
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue. 

" This^visage tells thee that my doom is past ; 
Nor should the change be mourned, even if 

the joys 
Of sense were able to return as fiist 
And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys 
Those raptures duly — Erebus disdains ; 
Calm pleasures there abide — majestic pains. 



" Be taught, faithful consort, to control 
Eebellious passion : for the gods approve 
The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul ; 
A fervent, not ungovernable, love. 
Thy transports moderate ; and meekly mourn 
When I dejiartj for brief is my sojourn — " 

" Ah, wherefore ? — Did not Hercules by force 
Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb 
Alcestis, a reanimated corse, 
Given back to dwell on earth in vernal 

bloom ? 
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years. 
And tEsou stood a youth 'mid youthful peers. 

" The gods to us are merciful, and they 
Yet further may relent; for mightier far 
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the 

sway 
Of magic potent over sun and star. 
Is love, though oft to agony distrest, 
And though his favorite seat be feeble wo- 
man's breast. 

" But if thou goest, I follow—" " Peace ! " 

he said;— 
She looked upon him and was calmed and 

cheered ; 
The ghastly color from his lips had fled ; 
In his deportment, shape, and mien appeared 
Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. 
Brought from a pensive, though a happy 

place. 

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel 
In worlds whose course is equable 'and pure ; 
No fears to beat away — no strife to heal — 
The past imsiglied foi", and the future sure ; 
Spake of heroic arts in graver mood 
Revived, with finer harmony pm-sued ; 

Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there 
In happier beauty ; more pellucid streams. 
An ampler ether, a divine air. 
And fields invested with purpureal gleams ; 
Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest 

day 
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. 

Yet there the soul shall enter which hath 

earned 
That privilege by virtue. — " 111," said he, • 



LOVE'S LAST MESSAGES. 



321 



" The end of man's existence I discerned, 
"Who from ignoble games and revelry 
Could draw, -when we had parted, vain de- 
light, 
Wlule tears were thy best pastime, day and 
night ; 

"And while my youthful peers befoi'o my 

eyes 
(Each hero following his peculiar beut) 
Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise 
By martial sports, — or, seated in the tent, 
Cliieftains and kings in council were de- 
tained, 
"What time the fleet at Anils lay enchained. 

" The wished-for wind was given ; — I then 

revolved 
The oracle, upon the silent sea; 
And, if no worthier led the way, resolved 
That, of ,a thousand vessels, mine should be 
Tlie foremost prow in pressing to the strand — 
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan 
sand. 

" Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter, was the pang 
"When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife ! 
On thes too fondly did my memory hang. 
Anil on the joys we shared in mortal life — 
The paths which we had trod— these foun- 
tains, flowers — 
My now-planned cities, and unfinished towers. 

" But should suspense permit the foe to cry, 
'Behold they tremble! — haughty their array. 
Yet of their number no one dares to die ? ' 
In soul I swept th' indignity away. 
Old frailties then recurred ; — but lofty thought, 
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought. 

"And thou, thougli strong in love, art all 
too weak 

In reason, in self-government too slow ; 

I counsel thee by fortitude to seek 

Our blest reunion in the shades below. 

The invisible world with thee hath sympa- 
thized ; 

Be thy aflections raised and solemnized. 

"Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend, — 

Seeking a higher object. Love was given, 

45 



Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end ; 
For this the passion to excess was driven, — 
That self might be annulled — her bondage 

prove 
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." 

Aloud she shrieked ! for Hermes reappears ! 
Eound the dear shade she would have clung, 

— 't is vain ; 
The hours are past, — too brief had they been 

years; 
And him no mortal eifort can detain. 
Swift, toward the realms that know not 

earthly day. 
He through the portal takes his silent way, 
And on the palace floor a lifeless corse she 

lay. 

Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved. 
She perished ; and, as for wilful crime, 
By the just gods, whom no weak pity moved, 
Was doomed to wear out her appointed time, 
Apart from happy ghosts, that gather flowers 
Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers. 

— Yet tears to human suffering are due ; 
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown 
Are mourned by man, and not by man alone, 
As fondly he believes. — Upon the side 
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) 
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew 
From out the tomb of him for whom she 

died ; 
And ever, when such stature they had gained 
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view. 
The trees' tall summits withered at the sight ; 
A constant interchange of growth and blight ! 
William WoEDSwonin. 



LOVE'S LAST MESSAGES. 

Meert, merry little stream. 
Tell me, hast thou seen my dear ? 

I left him with an azure dream. 
Calmly sleeping on his bier — 
But he has fled ! 

"I passed him in his church-yard bed- 
A yew is sighing o'er his head, 
And grass-roots mingle with his hair." 
What doth he there? 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Oh cruel ! can lac lie alone ? 

Or in the arms of one more dear? 
Or hides ho in the ho'O'er of stone, 

To cause and kiss away my fear ? 

"He doth not speak, he doth not moan — 

Blind, motionless he lies alone ; 

But, ere the grave-snake fleshed his sting, 

This one warm tear he bade me bring 
And lay it at thy feet 
Among the daisies sweet." 

Moonlight whisp'rer, summer air, 

Songster of the groves above. 
Tell the maiden rose I wear 

Whether thou hast seen my love. 
" This night in heaven I saw him lie, 

Discontented with his bliss ; 

And on my lips he left this kiss, 
For thee to taste and then to die." 

TnOMAS LOTELL Beddoes. 



THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL 

EYES. 

To make my lady's obsequies 

My love a minster wrought. 
And, in the chantry, service there 

Was sung by doleful thought ; 
The tapers were of burning sighs, 

That light and odor gave ; 
And sorrows, painted o'er with tears, 

Enlumined her grave; 
And round about, in quaintest guise, 
"Was carved : " Within this tomb there lies 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes." 

Above her heth spread a tomb 

Of gold and sapphires blue : 
The gold doth show her blessedness, 

The sapphires mark her ti'ue ; 
For blessedness and truth in her 

Were livelily portrayed, 
When gracious God with both His hands 

Her goodly substance made. 
He framed her in such wondrous wise, 
She was, to speak without disguise. 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

No more, no more ! my heart doth faint 
AVhen I the life recall 



Of her, who lived so free from taint, 

So virtuous deemed by all — 
That in herself was so complete, 

I think that she was ta'en 
By God to deck His paradise, 

And with His saints to reign ; 
Whom, while on earth, each one did prize, 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

But naught our tears avail, or cries ; 

All soon or late in death shall sleep ; 

Nor living wight long time may keep 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

CiiAr.LES Duke of Okleass. (French.) 
Translation of Heney Francis Uart. 



THE BURIAI. OF LOVE. 

Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day, 
Sat where a river rolled away. 
With calm, sad brows and raven hair ; 
And one was pale and both were fair. 

Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers un- 
blown ; 
Bi'ing forest blooms of name unknown ; 
Bring budding sprays from wood and wild. 
To strew the bier of Love, the child. 

Close softly, fondly, while ye weep, 
His eyes, that death may seem like sleep : 
And fold his hands in sign of rest, 
His waxen hands, across his breast. 

And make his grave where violets hide. 
Where star-flowers strew the rivulet's side, 
And blue-birds, in the misty spring, 
Of cloudless skies and summer sing. 

Place near him, as ye lay him low, 
His idle shafts, his loosened bow, 
Tlie silken tiUet that around 
His Avaggish eyes in sport he Avound. 

But Avc shall mourn him long, and miss 

His ready smile, his ready kiss. 

The patter of his little feet, 

Sweet frowns and stammered phrases sweet 

And graver looks, serene and high, 
A light of heaven in that young eye: 
All these shall haunt us till the heart 
Shall ache and ache — and "tears will start. 



WINIFREDA, 



323 



TJie bow, the band, shall fall to dust ; 
The sliuiing arrows waste with rust ; 
And all of Love that earth can claim, 
Be but a ineiuory and a name. 

Not thus his nobler part shall dwell, 
A prisoner in this narrow cell; 
But he whom now we hide from men 
In the dark ground, shall live again— 

Sliall break these clods, a form of light, 
With nobler mien and purer sight. 
And in th' eternal glory stand. 
Highest and nearest God's right hand. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



LOVE NOT. 

Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! 
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly 

flowers — 
Things that arc made to fade and fall away 
Ere they have blossomed for a few sliort hours. 
Love not ! 

Love not! the thing ye love may change ; 
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you. 
The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange, 
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be ti'ue. 
Love not ! 

Love not ! the thing you love may die — 
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth ; 
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky, 
Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth. 
Love not ! 

Love not! oh warning vainly said 
In present hours as in years gone by ; 
Love flings a halo round the dear ones' head, 
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. 
Love not ! 

Caroline Nokton. 



SONNET. 

The doubt which ye misdeem, fair love, is 
vain. 
That fondly fear to lose your liberty; 
When, losing one, two liberties ye gain, 
And make him bound tliat bondage erst 
did fly. 



Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth 
tye 
Without constraint, or dread of any ill: 
The gentle bird feels no captivity 

Within her cage ; but sings and feeds her 
fill; 
Tliere pride dare not api)roach, nor discord 
spill 
Tlie league 'twixt them, that loyal love hath 
bound ; 
But simple truth, and mutual good-will, 
Seeks, with sweet peace, to salve each 
other's wound ; 
There faith doth fearless dwell in brazen 

tower, 
And spotless pleasure builds her sacred bower. 

Edmund Spenser. 



WLNIFEEDA. 

Away ! let naught to love displeasing. 
My Winifred a, move your care; 

Let naught delay the heavenly blessing. 
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy feai\ 

What though no grants of royal donors 
With pompous titles grace our blood ; 

We '11 shine in more substantial honors. 
And to be noble we '11 be good. 

Our name, while virtue thus we tender, 
WUl sweetly sound where'er 't is spoke : 

And all the great ones, they shall wonder 
IIow they respect such little folk. 

Y/hat though from fortune's lavish bounty 
No mighty treasures we possess ; 

We '11 find within our pittance plenty, 
And be content without excess. 

Still shall each kind returning season 

Sufficient for our wishes give ; 
Foi". we will live a life of reason, 

And that 's the only life to live. 

Through youth and age in love excelling. 
We'll hand in hand together tread; 

Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling 
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. 

How should I love the pretty creatures, 
While 'round my knees they fondly clung, 

To see them look their mother's features, 
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue ! 



324 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And wlieii w'lih envy, time, transpoi'ted, 
Shall think to rob us of our joys, 

You '11 in your girls again he courted, 
And I '11 go a-wcoing in my hoys. 



SOIS^G. 



Gathek ye rose-huds as yo may, 

Old Time is still a-flyiug ; 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 

To-morrow will he dying. 

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, 

The higher he 's a-getting. 
The sooner will his race he run, 

And nearer he 's to setting. 

The age is best winch is the first, 
"When youth and hlood are warmer ; 

But heing spent, the worse and worst 
Time still succeed the former. 

Then he not coy, hut use your time. 
And while ye may, go marry ; 

For having lost but once your prime. 
You may for ever tarry. 

EOBEKT HeKKICK. 



BRIDAL SONG. 

To the sound of timbrels sweet 
Moving slow our solemn feet, 
We have borne thee on the road 
To the virgin's blest abode ; 
With thy yellow torches gleaming. 
And thy scarlet mantle streaming. 
And the canopy above 
Swaying as we slowly move. 

Thou hast left the joyous feast, 
And the mirth and wine have ceased ; 
And now we set thee down before 
The jealously-unclosing door, 
That the favored youth admits 
Where the veiled virgin sits 
In tlie bliss of maiden fear, 
Waiting our soft tread to hear. 
And the music's brisker din 
At the bridegroom's entering m, 
Entering in, a welcome guest, 
To the chamber of his rest. 

IIenhy IIakt Milmas. 



EPITHALAMION. 

Ye learned sisters, which have oftentimes 
Beene to the ayding others to adorue. 
Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful 

rymes. 
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne 
To heare theyr names sung in your simple 

lays. 
But joyed in theyr praise ; 
And when ye list your own mishaps to 

mourne, 
Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did 

rayse. 
Your string could soone to sadder tenor 

turne, 
And teach the woods and waters to lament 
Your doleful dreriment ; 
Now lay those sorrowfuU complaints aside ; 
And, having all your heads with girlands 

crowned, 
Helpe me mine owne love's prayses to re- 
sound, 
Ne let the same of any be envidc 
So Orpheus did for his owne bride ; 
So I unto my selfc alone will sing ; 
The woods shall to me answer, and my echo 



Early, before the world's light-giving lampe 
His golden heame upon the hils doth spred, 
Having disperst the night's uncheerfuL 

dampe, 
Doe ye awake ; and Avith fresh lustyhed 
Go to the bowre of my beloved love. 
My truest turtle dove ; 
Bid her awake ; for Hymen is awake, 
And long since ready forth his maske to 

move, 
Witli his bright torch that flames with many 

a flake, 
And many a bachelor to waite on him, 
In theyr fresh garments trim. 
Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight; 
For loe! the wished day is come at last, 
That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes 

past. 
Pay to her usury of long delight ! 
And, whylest she doth her dight, 



EPITIIALAMION. 



Doe ye to bcr of joy and solace sing, 
That all the woods may answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Bring with you all the nymphes that you can 

heare, 
Both of the rivers and the forests greene, 
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare; 
All with gay girlands goodly wel beseene. 
And let them also with them bring in hand 
Another gay girlaud, 
For mj fayre love, of lillyes and of roses. 
Bound, true-love-wise, with a blue silk 

riband. 
And let them make great store of bridale 

posies ; 
And let them eke bring store of other flow- 
ers, 
To deck the bridale bowers. 
And let the ground whereas her foot shall 

tread. 
For feare the stones her tender foot should 

Avrong, • 

Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along. 
And diapred lyke the discolored mead. 
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt. 
For she will waken strayt ; 
The whiles do ye this song unto her sing. 
The woods shall to you answer, and your 

echo ring. 

Ye nymphes of iNtulla, which with carefull 

heed 
The silver-scaly trouts do tend full well. 
And greedy pikes which used therein to 

feed, 
(Those trouts and pikes all others doe ex- 
cell ; ) 
And ye, likewise, which keepe the rushy 

lake, 
Wliere none do fishes take — 
Bynd up the locks the which hang scattered 

light. 
And in his waters, which your mirror make, 
Behold your faces as the christall bright. 
That when you come whereas my love doth 

lie 
N'o blemish she may spie. 
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds. which keepe 

the dore 
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre — 



And the wylde wolves, which seeke them tc 
devoure, 

Yrith your Steele darts doe chace from com- 
ing neare — 

Be also present here. 

To helpe to decke hex*, and to help to sing, 

That all the woods may answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Wake now, my love, awake ; for it is time : 
The rosy morne long since left Tithbn's bed^ 
All ready to her silver coache to clyme ; 
And Phoibus 'gins to shew his glorious bed. 
Hark ! how the cheerfuU birds do chaunt 

theyr laies, 
And carroU of love's praise ! 
The merry larke his mattius sings aloft ; 
The thrush replyes; the mavis descant 

playes ; 
The ouzell shrills ; the ruddock warbles soft : 
So goodly all agree, Avith sweet consent. 
To this daye's merriment. 
Ah ! my deare love, why do ye sleejje thus 

long ? 
When meeter were that ye should now awake, 
T' awayt the comming of your joyous make; 
And hearken to the birds' love-learned song, 
The dewy leaves among ! 
For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, 
That all the Avoods them answer, and theyr 

echo ring. 

My love is now awake out of her dreame ; 
And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed 

Avere 
With darksome cloud, now shcAV theyr goodly 

beame, 
More bright than Hesperus his head doth 

reare. 
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight, 
Helpe quickly her to dight ! 
But first come, ye fayre houres, Avhich were 

begot 
In Jove's sweet paradise of day and night ; 
Which do the seasons of the year allot ; 
And all that ever in this world is fayre, 
Do make and still repayre ! 
And ye, three handmayds of the Cyprian 

queene, 
The which do still adorn her beauteous 

pride, 
Helpe to adorn my beautifullest bride ; 



826 



rOEMS OF LOYE. 



And, as ye her array, still throw between 
Some graces to be scene ; 
And, as ye used to Venus, to her sing. 
The whiles the woods shal answer, and your 
echo ring. 

^Tow is my love all ready forth to come — 

Let all the virgins, therefore, well awayt ; 

And ye fresh boys, that tend upon her groome. 

Prepare yourselves; for he is comming strayt. 

Set all your things in seemely-good aray. 

Fit for so joyfull day — 

The joyfnlest day that ever sun did see. 

Fair sun ! shew forth thy favourable ray, 

And let thy lifull heat not fervent be, 

For feare of burning her sunshyny face. 

Her beauty to disgrace. 

fayrest Phoebus ! father of the Muse ! 

If ever I did honour thee aright, 

Or sing the thing that mote thy minde de- 

light, 
Do not thy servant's simple boone refuse ; 
But let this day, let this one day, be mine ; 
Let all the rest be thine. 
Then I thy soverayne prayesesloud will sing. 
That all the Avoods shal answer, and theyr 

echo ring. 

Ilarke ! how the minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud 
Their merry musick that resounds from far — 
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud 
That well agree withouten breach or jar. 
But most of all the damzels do delite 
"When they their tymbrels smyte. 
And thereunto do daunce and carrol sweet. 
That all the sences they do ravish quite ; 
Tiie whiles the boyes run up and doune the 

street. 
Crying aloud with strong, confused noyce, 
As if it were one voyce : 
Hymen, To Hymen, Hymen ! they do shout, 
That even to the heavens theyr shouting 

shrill 
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill ; 
To which the people standing all about, 
As in approvance, do thereto applaud. 
And loud advaunce her laud ; 
And evermore they Hymen, Hymen ! sing, 
That all the woods them answer, and theyr 

echo rins;. 



Loo ! where she comes along with portly pace, 
Lyke Phcobe, from her chamber of the east, 
Arysing forth to run her mighty race, 
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. 
So well it her beseems that ye would weene 
Some angell she had beene. 
Her long, loose, yellow locks, lyke golden 

wyre. 
Sprinkled with perle, and perliug flowres 

atweene. 
Do lyke a golden mantle her attyre ; 
And, being crowned with a girland greene, 
Seem lyke some mayden queene. 
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold 
So many gazers as on her do stare, 
Upon the lowly ground aflSxed are ; 
ISTe dare lift up her countenance too bold, 
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud, 
So farre fi-om being proud. 
Nathlesse do ye still loud her prayses sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

echo ring. 

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see 
So fayre a creature in your towne before ? 
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 
Adornd with beauty's grace and vertue's 

store ? 
Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres rJiining bright ; 
Her forehead ivory white ; 
Her cheekes lyke apples which the snn hath 

rndded ; 
Her lips lyke cherries charming men to byte 
Her brest lyke to a bowl of cream uncrudded ; 
Her paps lyke lyllies budded ; 
Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre ; 
And all her body like a pallace fayre, 
Ascending up with many a stately stayre, 
To honor's seat and chastity's sweet bowre. 
Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze 
Upon her so to gaze. 

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, 
To which the woods did answer, and your 

echo ring ? 

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, 
The inward beauty of her lively spright, 
Garnisht with heavenly gifts of high degree, 
Much more then would ye wonder at that 
sight, 



EPITIIALAMION. 



11 



And stand astonisht, lyke to those which red 

Medusae's mazeful hed. 

There dwells sweet love, and constant chas- 
tity, 

Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood, 

Kegard of honour, and mild modesty ; 

There vertue raynes as queene in royal 
throne, 

And g'ivcth lawes alone, 

The which the base affections do obey, 

And yeeld theyr services unto her will ; 

Ne thought of things uncomely ever may 

Thereto approach, to tempt her mind to ill. 

Had ye once scene these her celestial treas- 
ures, 

And unrevealed pleasures. 

Then would ye wonder, and her prayses 
sing, 

That all the woods should answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Open the temple gates unto my love! 
Open them wide, that she may enter in ! 
And all the postes adorne as doth behove. 
And all the pillars deck with girlands trim, 
For to receyve this saynt with honour dew. 
That commeth in to you ! 
With trembling steps and humble reverence 
She commeth in before th' Almighty's view. 
Of her, ye virgins, learne obedience, — 
When so ye come into those holy places. 
To humble your proud faces. 
Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may 
The sacred ceremonies there partake. 
The which do endlesse matrimony make ; 
And let the roaring organs loudly play 
The praises of the Lord in lively notes ; 
The whiles, with hollow throates. 
The choristers the joyous antbeme sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and their 
echo ring. 

Behold ! whiles she before the altar stands, 
Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes. 
And blesseth her with his two happy hands. 
How the red i-oses flush up in her cheekes. 
And the pure snow with goodly vermill 

stayne, 
Like crimson dyde in grayne : 
That even the angels, which continually 
About the sacred altar do remaine, 



Forget their service and about her Hy, 

Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more 

fayre 
The more they on it stare. 
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, 
Are governed with goodly modesty. 
That suffers not one look to glaunce awry 
Which may let in a little thought unsound. 
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand. 
The pledge of all our band ! 
Sing, ye sweet angels, alleluya sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

echo ring ! 

ISTow all is done: bring home the bride 

again — 
Bring home the triumph of our victory ; 
Bring home with you the glory of her gaine — 
With joyance bring her and with jollity. 
]^ever had man more joyfull day than this. 
Whom heaven would heape with bliss. 
Make feast therefore now all this live-long 

day ; 
This day for ever to me holy is. 
Poure out the wine without restraint or stay — 
Poure not by cups, but by the belly-full — 
Poure out to all that wull ! 
And sprinkle all the postes and walls with 

wine. 
That they may sweat and drunken be withall. 
Crowne ye god Bacchus with a coronall. 
And Hymen also crowne with wa-eaths of 

vine; 
And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, 
For they can do it best ; 
The whiles the maydens do theyr carrol 

sing. 
To which the woods shall answer, and theyr 

echo ring. 

King ye the bells, ye yong men of the towne, 
And leave your wonted labors for this day : 
This day is holy — do ye write it downe. 
That ye for ever it remember may, — 
This day the sun is in his chiefest hight. 
With Barnaby the bright. 
From whence declining daily by degrees, 
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light. 
When once the Crab behind his back he sees. 
But for this time it ill-ordained Avas 



328 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



To choose the longest day in all the yeare, 
And shortest night, wlien longest fitter 

■\veare ; 
Yet never day so long but late would passe. 
Ring ye the bells, to make it weare away, 
And bonfires make all day ; 
And dannce about them, and about them sing, 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

echo ring. 

Ah ! when will this long weary day have end, 
And lende me leave to come unto my love ? 
How slowly do the houres theyr numbers 

spend ! 
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move ! 
Hast thee, O fayrest planet, to thy home. 
Within the westerhe foame ; 
Thy tyred stecdes long since have need of rest. 
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome. 
And the bright evening-star with golden 

crest 
Appeare out of the east. 
Fayre child of beauty! glorious lamp of love! 
That all the host of heaven in rankes dost 

lead, 
And guidest lovers through the night's sad 

dread. 
How cherefuUy thou lookest from above, 
And seem'st to laugh atweene thy twinkling 

light, 
As joying in the sight 
Of these glad many, which for joy do sing. 
That all the woods them answer, and their 

echo ring. 

Now cease, ye damsels, your delights fore- 
past ; 
Enough it is that all the day Avas youres. 
Now day is done, and night is nighing fast ; 
Now bring the bryde into the brydall bowres. 
The night is come, now soon her disarray, . 
And in her bed her lay ; 
Lay her in lyllies and in violets ; 
And silken curtains over her display. 
And odourd sheets, and arras coverlets. 
Behold how goodly my faire love does Ij'e, 
In proud humility I 

Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took 
In Tempe, lying on the flowry grass, 
'Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary Avas, 
With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. 



Now it is night — ye damsels may be gone, 
And leave my love alone ; 
And leave likewise your former lay to sing: 
The Avoods no more shall answer, nor your 
echo ring. 

Now welcome, night! thou night so long 

expected. 
That long daie's labour doest at last defray. 
And all my cares which cruell love collected, 
Hast suramd in one, and cancelled for aye I 
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me, 
That no man may us see ; 
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap. 
From feare of perill and foule horror free. 
Let no false treason seeke us to entrap. 
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy 
The safety of our joy ; 
But let the niglit be calme, and quietsome. 
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray: 
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay, 
When he begot the great Tirynlhian groome ; 
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lye. 
And begot Majesty. 

And let the mayds and yongmen cease to sing; 
Ne let the Avoods them answer, nor theyr 

echo ring. 

Let no lamenting cryes, nor doleful teares. 
Be heard all night Avithin, nor yet Avithout ; 
Ne let false Avhispers, breeding hidden feares, 
Breake gentle sleepe Avith misconceived dout. 
Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadful sights, 
Make sudden, sad affi'ights ; 
Ne let house-fyres, nor lightning's helples 

harmes, 
Ne let the pouke, nor other evill sprights, 
Ne let mischievous Avitches with their 

charmes, 
Ne let hob-goblins, names Avhose sense Ave 

see not. 
Fray us Avith things that be not ; 
Let not the shriech-owle, nor the storke, be 

heard ; 
Nor the night raven, that still deadly yells ; 
Nor damned ghosts, cald up Avith mighty 

spells ; 
Nor griesly vultures make us once affeard. 
Ne let th' unpleasant quire of frogs still crok- 

ing 
Make us to wish theyr choking. 



EPITHALAMION. 



32'.! 



Let none of these theyr dreary accents sing ; 
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr 
echo ring. 

But let stil silence true night-watches keepe, 
That sacred peace may in assurance rayne, 
And tymely sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, 
May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant 

playne ; 
The whiles an hundred little winged Loves, 
Like divers-fethered doves, 
Shall lly and flutter round about the bed. 
And in the secret darke, that none reproves. 
Their prety stealthes shall worke, and snares 

sliall spread 
To filch away sweet snatches of delight, 
Conceald through covert night. 
Ye sonnes of Venus play your sports at will ! 
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes, 
Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes 
Than what ye do, albeit good or ill. 
All night therefore attend your merry play. 
For it will soone be day ; 
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing; 
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your 

echo ring. 

Who is the same, which at my window 

peepes ? 
Or whose is that fayre face that shines so 

bright? 
Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes. 
But walks about high Heaven all the night ? 
O fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy 
My love with me to spy ; 
For thou likewise didst love, though now un- 

thought, 
And for a fleece of wool, which privily 
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee 

brought, 
His j^leasures with thee wrought. 
Therefore to us be fjivorable now ; 
And sith of women's labours thou hast charge. 
And generation goodly dost enlarge, 
Eucline thy will t' efiect our wishfull vow. 
And the chast womb informe with timely 

seed, 
Tliat may our comfort breed : 
Till which we cease our hopefuU hap to sing; 
Ne let the woods us answer, nor our echo 

ring, 

46 



And thou, great Juno ! which with awful 

might 
The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize ; 
And the religion of the faith first plight 
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize ; 
And eke for comfort often called art 
Of women in their smart — 
Eternally bind thou this lovely band. 
And all thy blessings unto us impart. 
And thou, glad genius ! in whose gentle hand 
The brydale bowre and geniall bed remaiiie, 
Without blemish or staine ; 
And the sweet pleasures of theyr love's delight 
With secret ayde dost succour and supply. 
Till they bring forth the fruitful progeny ; 
Send us the timely fruit of this same night ; 
And thou, fayre Hebe! and thou. Hymen free! 
Grant that it may so be ; 
Till which we cease your further praise to sing, 
Ne any wood shall answer, nor your echo ring. 

And ye, higli heavens, the temple of the gods. 
In which a thousand torches flaming bright 
Do burne, that to us wretched earthly clods 
In dreadful darkuesse lend desired light ; 
And all ye powers which in the same re 

mayne. 
More than we men can foyne — 
Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, 
And happy influence upon us raine. 
That we may raise a large posterity, 
Which, from the earth which they may long 

possesse 
With lasting happinesse, 
L^p to you,r haughty pallaces may mount ; 
And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit. 
May heavenly tabernacles there inherit. 
Of blessed saints for to increase the count. 
So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this. 
And cease till then our tymely joyes to sing: 
The woods no more us answer, nor om* echo 

ring. 

Song ! made in lieu of many ornaments^ 
With icMclimylotesliould duly hxteleendccH. 
Which cutting off through hasty accidents. 
Ye would not stay your due time to expect, 

But pro7nist loth to recompcns; 

Be unto her a goodly ornament, 

And for short time an endlcsse monument ! 

Edmund Spenskr. 



830 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

I SAW two clouds at morning, 

Tinged bj the rising sun, 
And in the dawn they floated on, 

And mingled into one ; 
I thought that morning cloud was blest, 
It moved so sweetly to the west. 

I saw two summer currents 
Flow smoothly to their meeting. 

And join their course with silent force, 
In peace each other greeting ; 

Calm was their course through banks of 
green. 

While dimpling eddies played between. 

Such be vour gentle motion, 
Till life's last pulse shall beat ; 

Like sumrner's beam, and summer's stream. 
Float on, in joy, to meet 

A calmer sea, Avhere storms shall cease — 

A purer sky, where all is peace. 

John G. C. Bkainaed. 



NOT OUES THE VOWS. 

Not ours the vows of such as plight 
Their troth in sunny weather, 

While leaves are green, and skies are bright. 
To walk on flowers together. 

rJut we have loved as those who tread 

The thorny path of sorrow. 
With clouds above, and cause to dread 

Yet deeper glo'om to-morrow. 

Tluit thorny path, those stormy skies. 

Have drawn our spirits nearer ; 
And rendered us, by sorrow's ties, 

Eacli to the other dearer. 

Love, born in hours of joy and mirth, 
With mirth and joy may perish; 

Tliat to which darker hours gave birth 
Still more and more we cherish. 

It looks beyond the clouds of time. 

And through death's shadowy portal ; 

^Lade by adversity sublime. 

By faith and hope immortal. 

Eeknakd Barton. 



MY LOVE HAS TALKED. 

My love has talked with rocks and trees ; 
He finds on misty mountain-ground 
His own vast shadow glory-crowned-- 

He sees himself in all he sees. 

Two partners of a married life, — 

I looked on these and thought of thee 
In vastness and in mystery, 

And of my spirit as of a wife. 

These two, they dwelt with eye on eye ; 

Their hearts of old have beat in tune ; 

Their meetings made December June ; 
Their every parting was to die. 

Their love has never passed aAvay ; 
The days she never can forget 
Are earnest that he loves her yet, 

Whate'er the faithless people say. 

Her life is lone — he sits apart — 

He loves her yet — she will not Aveep, 
Though, rapt in matters dark and deep. 

He seems to slight her simple heart. 

He thrids the labyrinth of the mind; 
He reads the secret of the star — 
He seems so near and yet so far ; 

He looks so cold : she thinks him kind. 

She keeps the gift of years before — 
A withered violet is her bliss ; 
She knows not what his greatness is ; 

For that, for all, she loves him more. 

For him she plays, to him she sings 
Of early faith and plighted vows ; 
She knows but matters of the house; 

And he — he knows a thousand things. 

Her faith is fixed and cannot move ; 

She darkly feels him great and wise ; 

She dwells on him with faithful eyes: 
''I cannot understand — I love." 

Alfred Tenj^tson. 



MY WIFE 'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 



331 



IF rilOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE. 

Ij- tliou wert by my side, my love, 
How fast would evening fail 

In green Bcngala's palmy grove, 
Listening tlie nightingale! 

If thou, my love, wert by my side, 

My babies at my knee. 
How gayly would our pinnace glide 

O'er Gunga's mimic sea ! 

I miss thee at the dawning gray, 
When, on our deck reclined, 

In careless ease my limbs I lay 
And woo the cooler wind. 

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream 

My twilight steps I guide. 
But most beneath the lamp's pale beam 

I miss thee from my side. 

I spread my books, my pencil try, 
The lingering noon to cheer. 

But miss tliy kind, approving eye, 
Tliy meek, attentive ear. 

But when at morn and eve the star 

Beholds me on my knee, 
I feel, though thou art distant far. 

Thy prayers ascend for me. 

Then on ! then on ! whei'e duty leads. 

My course be onward still. 
O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads. 

O'er bleak Almorah's hill. 

That course nor Delhi's kingly gates, 

ISTor mild Malwah detain ; 
For sweet the bliss us both awaits 

By yonder western main. 

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they 
say. 

Across the dark blue sea ; 
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay 

As then shall meet in thee ! 

Reginald IIebee. 



A WISH. 

Mine be a cot beside the hill ; 

A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear ; 
A willowy brook, tliat turns a mill, 

With many a foil shall linger near. 

The swallow oft beneath my thatch 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; 

Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 

And share my meal, a welcome guest. 

Around my ivied porch shall spring 

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 

And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
In russet gown and apron blue. 

The village churcli among the trees. 
Where first our marriage vows were given 

With merry peals shall swell the breeze 
And point with taper spire to heaven. 

Samuel Eogees. 



MY WIFE 'S A WIXSOME WEE THING. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer, 

And noist my heart I '11 wear her, 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee vrife of mine. 

The warld's wrack, \\ e share o 't, 
Tlie warstle and tlie care o 't, 
Wi' her I '11 blythely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 

KoBEET Burns. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



THE FIRESIDE. 

Dear Chloo, while tlio busy crowd, 
fhe vain, the wealthy, and the proud, 

In folly's maze advance ; 
Though singularity and pride 
Be called our choice, we 'U step aside, 

Isov join the giddy dance. 

From the gay world we '11 oft retire 
To our own family and fire, 

Wliero love our hours employs ; 
No noisy neighbor enters here, 
No intermeddling stranger near, 

To spoil our heartfelt joys. 

If solid happiness we prize, 
Within our breast this jewel lies. 

And they are fools who roam ; 
The world hath nothing to bestow — 
From our own selves our bliss must flow, 

And that dear hut, our home. 

Though fools spurn Hymen's g'entle powers. 
We, who improve his golden hours. 

By sweet experience know 
That marriage, rightly understood. 
Gives to the tender and the .good 

A paradise below. 

Our babes shall richest comforts bring; 
If tutored right, they '11 prove a spring 

Whence pleasures ever rise ; 
V/e '11 form their minds with studious care 
To all that 's manly, good, and fair, 

And train them for the skies. 



While they our wisest hours engage, 
They'll joy our youth, support our age, 

And crown our hoary hairs; 
They '11 grow in virtue every day. 
And tluis our fondest loves repay, 

And recompense our cares. 

No borrowed joys, they 're all our own, 
While to the world we live unknown. 



Or by the world forgot ; 
Monai'chs ! we envy not your state- 
We look with pity on the great. 

And bless our humble lot. 



Our portion is not large, indeed; 
But then how little do we need, 

For nature's calls are few ; 
In this the art of living lies, 
To want no more than may suffice, 

And make that little do. 



We '11 therefore relish with content 
Whate'er kind Providence has sent, 

Nor aim beyond our power ; 
For, if our stock be very small, 
'T is prudence to enjoy it all. 

Nor lose the present hour. 

To be resigned when ills betide, 
Patient when favors are denied. 

And pleased with favors given — 
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part, 
This is that incense of the heart. 

Whose fragrance smells to heaven. 

We '11 ask no long-protracted treat. 
Since winter-life is seldom sweet ; 

But, when our feast is o'er, 
Grateful from table we '11 arise. 
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes, 

The relics of our store. 

Thus hand in hand through life we '11 go ; 
Its chequered paths of joy and woe 

With cautious steps we 'II tread ; 
Quit its vain scenes without a tear, 
Without a trouble, or a fear, 

And mingle with the dead ; 



While conscience, like a faithful friend. 
Shall through the gloomy vale attend, 

And cheer our dying breath — 
Shall, when all other comforts cease. 
Like a kind angel whispei- peace, 

And smooth the bed of death. 

NATnANIEL COTTOK. 



THE rOET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. 



333 



THE POET'S BEIDAL-DAY SONG. 

On, my love 's like the steadfast sun, 
Or streams that deepen as they run ; 
Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years. 
Nor moments between sighs and tears, 
Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain, 
Nor di'eams of glory dreamed in vain, 
Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows 
To sober joys and soften woes. 
Can make my heart or foncy flee, 
One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. 

Even while I mnse, I see thee sit 

In maiden bloom and matron wit; 

Fair, gentle as when first I sued, 

Ye seem, but of sedater mood ; 

Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee 

As when, beneath Arbigland tree, 

"We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon 

Set on the sea an hour too soon ; 

Or lingered 'mid the falling dew. 

When looks Avere fond and words were few. 

Though I see smiling at thy feet 
Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet. 
And time, and care, and birthtime woes 
Have dimmed thine eye and touched thy rose, 
To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong 
Whate'er charms me in tale or song. 
When words descend like dews, unsought, 
"With gleams of deep, enthusiast thought. 
And fancy in her heaven flies free. 
They come, my love, they come from thee. 

Oh, when more tliought we gave, of old, 
To silver, than some give to gold, 
'T was sweet to sit and ponder o'er 
How we should deck our humble bower ; 
'T was sweet to pull, in hope, with thee, 
The golden fruit of fortune's tree ; 
And sweeter still to choose and twine 
A garland for that brow of thine — 
A song-wreath which may grace my Jean, 
While rivers flow, and woods grow green. 

At times there come, as come there ought. 
Grave moments of sedater thought, 
When fortune frowns, nor lends our night 
One gleam of her inconstant light ; 



And hope, that decks the peasant's bower, 
Shines like a rainbow through the shower ; 
Oh then I see, while seated nigh, 
A mother's heart shine in thine eye. 
And proud resolve and purpose, meek, 
Speak of thee more than words can speak. 
I think this wedded wife of mine. 
The best of all that 's not divine. 

Allak Citnkingiiau. 



TO SAEAH. 

OjSte happy year has fled. Sail, 

Since you were all my own ; 
The leaves have felt the autumn blight, 

The wintry stoi'm has blown. 
We heeded not the cold blast, 

Nor the winter's icy air ; 
For we found our climate ia the heart. 

And it was summer there. 

The summer sun is bright. Sail, 

The skies are pure in hue — 
But clouds will sometimes sadden them. 

And dim their lovely blue ; 
And clouds may come to us. Sail, 

But sure they will not stay ; 
For there's a spell in fond hearts 

To chase their gloom away. 

In sickness and in sorrow 

Thine eyes were on me still, 
And there was comfort in each glance 

To charm the sense of ill ; 
And were they absent now, Sail, 

I 'd seek my bed of pain, 
And bless each pang that gave me back 

Those looks of love again. 

Oh, pleasant is the welcome kiss 

When day's dull round is o'er. 
And sweet the music of the step 

That meejS me at the door. 
Though worldly cares may visit us, 

I reck not when they fall, 
While I have thy kind lips, ray Sail, 

To smile away them all. 

Joseph Eodman Drake. 



S34 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



TIIE POET'S SOXG TO HIS WIFE. 

IIow mnny summers, love, 

Have I been thine? 
IIow many days, tliou dove, 

Hast thou been mine ? 
Time, like the winged wind 

When 't bends the tlowers. 
Hath left no mark behind. 

To count the hours! 

Some weight of thought, though loth. 

On thee he leaves ; 
Some lines of care round both 

Perhaps he weaves ; 
Some fears, — a soft regret 

For joys scarce known; 
Sweet looks we half forget ; — 

All else is flown! 

Ah ! — With what thankless heart 

I mourn and sing! 
Look, where our children start, 

Lilce sudden spring ! 
With tongues all sweet and low, 

Like a pleasant rhyme, 
They tell how much I owe 

To thee and time ! 

BaKRY CoRNWALlu 



THE BLISSFUL DAY. 

TuE day returns, my bosom burns, 
Tlie blissful day we twa did meet ; 

Tho' winter wild in tempest toiled, 
Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 



Than a' tlic pride that loads the tide, 
And crosses o'er the sultry line — 

Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, 
Heaven gave me more ; it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight. 

Or nature auglit of pleasure give — 
While joys above my mind can move, 

For thee and thee alone I live ; 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part, 
The iron hand that breaks our band. 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 

EOBERT BlTEKS. 



JOHN ANDERSON. 

John Anderso:n', my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent. 
Your locks were like the raven. 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is bald, John, 

Your locks are like the snow ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo ! 

John Anderson, my jo, Jolm, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And mony a canty day, John, 

We 've had wi' ane anither; 
Now we maun totter doun, John. 

But hand in hand we '11 go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



EOCERT BURXS. 



PART Y. 
POEMS OF AMBITION 



Patriots have toiled, and iu their country's causo 
Bled uobly ; and their deeds, as they deserve, 
Keceive proud recompense. We give in charge 
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic Muse, 
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn. 
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 
To guard them, and to immortalize her trust. 

COWPEK. 



On courage ! there he comes ; 

What ray of honor rouud about him looms ! 

Oh, what new beams from his bright eyes do glance I 

princely port 1 presagcful countenance 

Of hap at hand ! He doth not nicely prank' 

In clinquant pomp, as some of meanest rank, 

But armed in steel ; that bright habiliment 

Is his rich valor's sole rich ornament. 

Joshua Sylvestek. 



En avant 1 marchons 
Contre leurs canons ! 
A travers le fer, le feu des battaillons, 
Courons a la victoire ! 

Casimir de la Vigne. 



The perfect heat of that celestial fire, 
That so inflames the pure heroic breast, 
And lifts the thought, that it can never rest 

Till it to heaven attain its prime desire. 

LoKD Thuklow. 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



IIORATIUS. 



4. LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF ROME CCCLX. 



Lars Porsena of Clusiuin, 

By the nine gods he swore 
That the great house of Tarquin 

Should suffer wrong no more. 
By the nine gods he swore it, 

And named a trysting day, 
And hade his messengers ride forth, 
East and west and soutli and north, 

To summon his array. 



East and west and south and north 

The messengers ride fast. 
And tower and town and cottage 

Have heard the trumpet's hlast. 
Sliame on the false Etruscan 

"Who lingers in his home, 
"When Porsena of Clusium 

Is on the march for Rome ! 



Tlie horsemen and the footmen 

Are pouring in amain 
From many a stately market-place, 

From many a fruitful plain, 
From many a lonely hamlet, 

"Which, hid hy beech and pine. 
Like an eagle's nest hangs on the crest 

Of i)urp]e Apcnnine; 
47 



From lordly Volaterrae, 

Where scowls the far-famed hold 
Piled by the hands of giants 

For godlike kings of old ; 
From sea-girt Populonia, 

"Whose sentinels descry 
Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops 

Fringing the southern sky; 



From the proud mart of Pisae, 

Queen of the western waves, 
Where ride Massilia's triremes, 

Heavy with fair-haired slaves; 
From vjrhere sweet Clanis wanders 

Through corn and vines and flowers ; 
From where Cortona lifts to heaven 

Her diadem of towers. 



Tall are the oaks whose acorns 

Drop in dark Auser's rill ; 
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs 

Of the Ciminian hill ; 
Beyond all streams, Clitumnus 

Is to the herdsman dear ; 
Best of all pools the fowler loves 

The Ki'eat "\^olsinian mere. 



But now no stroke of woodman 

Is heard hy Auser's rill ; 
No hunter tracks the stag's green path 

Up the Ciminian hill; 



338 



POEMS OF AMBITION 



Unwatched along Clitumnus 
Grazes the milk-white steer ; 

Unharmed the water-fowl may dip 
In the Yolsinian mere. 

VIII. 

The harvests of Arretium, 

This year, old men sliall reap ; 
This year, young hoys in TJmbro 

Shall plnnge the struggling slieep ; 
And in the vats of Luna, 

This year, the must shall foam 
Kound the white feet of laughing girls 

Whose sires have marched to Rome. 



There he thirty chosen prophets. 

The wisest of the land, 
Who alway by Lars Porsena 

Both morn and evening stand. 
Evening and morn the thirty 

Have turned the verses o'er, 
Traced from the right on linen white 

By mighty seers of yore ; 



And Avith one voice the thirty 

Have their glad answer given : 
" Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena — 

Go forth, beloved of heaven ! 
Go, and return in glory 

To Olusium's royal dome, 
And hang round Nurscia's altars 

The golden shields of Ptome ! " 



And now hath every city 

Sent up her tale of men ; 
The foot are fourscore thousand, 

The horse are thousands ten. 
Before the gates of Sutrium 

Is met the great array ; 
A proud man was Lars Porsena 

Upon the trysting day. 

XII. 

For all the Etruscan armies 
AVere ranged beneath his eye, 

And many a banished Roman, 
And many a stout ally ; 



And with a miglity following, 
To join the muster, came 

The Tusculan Mamilius, 
Prince of the Latian name. 



But by the yellow Tiber 

Was tumult and affright ; 
From all the spacious cliam])aign 

To Rome men took their flight. 
A mile around the city 

The throng stopped up the ways; 
A fearful sight it was to see 

Through two long nights and days. 



For aged folk on crutches, 

And women great with child. 
And mothers, sobbing over babes 

That clung to them and smiled, 
And sick men borne in litters 

High on the necks of slaves. 
And troops of sunburned husbandmen 

AVith reaping-hooks and staves. 



And droves of mules and asses 

Laden with skins of wine, 
And endless flocks of goats and sheep, 

And endless herds of kine, 
And endless trains of wagons. 

That creaked beneath the Aveight 
Of corn-sacks and of household goods, 

Choked every roaring gate. 



Now, from the rock Tarpeian, 

Could the wan burghers spy 
The line of blazing villages 

Red in the midnight sky. 
The fatliersof the city. 

They sat all night and day. 
For every hour some horseman came 

With tidings of dismay. 

SVII. 

To eastAvard and to AvestAvard 
HaA'e spread the Tuscan bands, 

Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecot. 
In Crustumerium stands. 



HORATIUS. 



Verbenna down to Ostia 
Ilatli wasted all the plain ; 

Astur hath stormed Janiculuni, 
And the stout guards are slain. 



I wis, in all the senate 

There was no heart so bold 
But sore it ached, and fast it beat, 

When that ill news was told. 
Forthwith up rose the consul, 

Up rose tlie fathers all ; 
In haste they girded up their gowns, 

And hied them to the wall. 



They held a council, standing 

Before the river-gate ; 
Sliort time was there, ye well may guess, 

For musing or debate. 
Out spake the consul roundly: 

"The bridge must straight go down ; 
For, since Janiculum is lost. 

Nought else can save the toAvn." 



Just then a scout came flying. 

All wild with haste and fear : 
" To arms ! to arms ! sir consul — 

Lars Poi'sena is here." 
On the low hills to westwai'd 

The consul fixed his eye. 
And saw the swarthy storm of dust 

Rise fast along the sky. 



And nearer fast and nearer 

Doth the red whirlwind come ; 
And louder still, and still more loud, 
From underneath that rolling cloud, 
Is heard the trumpets' war-note proud. 

The trampling and the hum. 
And plainly and more plainly 

Now through the gloom appears, 
Far to left and far to right, 
In broken gleams of dark-blue light, 
The long array of helmets bright. 

The long array of spears. 



And plainly and more plainly. 

Above that glimmering line. 
Now might ye see the banners 

Of twelve fair cities shine ; 
But the banner of proud Clusium 

"Was highest of them all — 
The terror of the Umbrian, 

The terror of the Gaul. 



And plainly and more plainly 

Now might the burghers know, 
By port and vest, by horse and crest, 

Each warlike Lucumo : 
There Oilnius of Arretium 

On his fleet roan was seen ; 
And Astur of the fourfold shield, 
Girt with the brand none else may wield ; 
Tolumnius with the belt of gold. 
And dark Verbenna from the hold 

By reedy Thi'asymene. 



Fast by the royal standard, 

O'erlooking all the war, 
Lars Porsena of Clusium 

Sat in his ivory car. 
By the right wheel rode Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name; 
And by the left fidse Sextus, 

That wrought the deed of shame. 



But when the face of Sextus 

Was seen among the foes, 
A yell that rent the firmament 

From all the town arose. 
On the housetops was no woman 

But spat towards him and hissed. 
No child but screamed out curses, 

And shook its little fist. 



But the consul's brow was sad, 
And the consul's speech was low, 

And darkly looked he at the wall, 
And darkly at the foe : 



340 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



"Tlieir van "will be upon ns 
Before the bridge goes down ; 

And if they once may win the bridge, 
What hope to save the town ? " 

XXVII. 

Tlien out spake brave Horatius, 

The captain of the gate : 
" To every man upon this earth 

Death cometh soon or late. 
And how can man die better 

Than facing fearful odds 
For the ashes of his fathers, 

And the temples of his gods? 

XXVIII. 

"And for the tender mother 

"Who dandled him to rest. 
And for the wife who nurses 

His baby at her breast, 
And for the holy maidens 

AVho feed the eternal flame — 
To save them from talse Sextus 

That wrought the deed of -shame ? 



" Hew down the bridge, sir consul, 

With all the speed ye may ; 
T, with two more to help me, 

Will hold the foe in play — 
In yon strait path a thousand 

May well be stopped by three. 
Now who will stand on either hand. 

And keep the bridge Mith me?" 

XXX. 

Then out spake Spuriiis Lartius — 

A Eamniau proud was he: 
" Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 

And keep the bridge with thee." 
And out spake strong Ilerminius — 

Of Titian blood was he : 
"I will abide on thy left side. 

And keep the bridge with thee." 

/ XXXI. 

"Horatius," quoth the consul, 
"As thou sayest, so let it be." 

And straight against that great array 
Forth went 1he dauntless three. 



For Eonians in Rome's quan-el 
Spared neither land nor gold. 

Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life. 
In the brave days of old. 



Then none was for a party — 

Then all were for the state ; 
Then the great man helped the poor, 

And the poor man loved the great ; 
Then lands were fairly portioned! 

Then spoils were fairly sold : 
The Eomans were like brothers 

In the brave days of old. 



Now Eoman is to Eoman 

More hateful than a foe. 
And the tribunes beard the high, 

And the fathers grind the low. 
As we wax hot in faction. 

In battle we wax cold; 
Wherefore men fight not as they fought 

In the brave days of old. 



Now while the three were tightening 

Their harness on their backs. 
The consul was the foremost man 

To take in hand an axe ; 
And fathers, mixed with commons, 

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 
And smote upon the planks above, 

And loosed the props below. 



Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 

Eight glorious to behold. 
Came flashing back tJie noonday light, 
Eank behind rank, like surges bright 

Of a broad sea of gold. 
Four hundred trumpets sounded 

A peal of warlike glee, 
As that great host, with measured tread, 
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
Eolled slowly toAvards the bridge's head, 

Where stood the dauntless three. 



nORATIUS. 



XXXVI. 

Tlic tlirce stood calm and silent, 

And looked upon the foes, 
And a great shout of laughter 

From all the vanguard rose ; 
And forth three chiefs came sjiurring 

Before that deep array ; 
To earth they sprang, their swords they 

drew. 
And lifted higli their shields, and flew 

To win the narrow way. 

XXXVII. 

Annus, from green Tifernum, 

Lord of the hill of vines ; 
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves 

Sicken in Ilva's mines ; 
And Picus, long to Clusium 

Vassal in peace and war, 
"Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 
From that gray crag where, girt with 

towers, 
The fortress of Nequinum lowers 

O'er the pale waves of Nar. 

XXXVIII. 

Stout Lartius hurled down Annus 

Into the stream beneath ; 
Ilerminius struck at Seius, 

And clove him to the teeth ; 
At Picus brave Horatius 

Darted one fiery thrust. 
And the pi'oud Dmbrian's gilded arms 

Clashed in the bloody dust. 

XXXIX. 

Then Ocnus of Falerii 

Pushed on the Roman three ; 
And Lausulus of Urgo, 

The rover of the sea ; 
And Aruns of Volsinium, 

"Who slew the great wild boar — 
The great wild boar that had his den 

Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen. 
And wasted fieldij, and slaughtered men. 

Along Albinia's shore. 



Ilerminius smote down Aruns ; 

Lartius laid Ocnus low ; 
Right to the heart of Lausulus 

Horatius sent a blow : 



"Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate! 

ISTo more, aghast and pale. 
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark 

The track of thy destroying bark ; 
No more Campania's hinds shall fly 
To woods and caverns, when they spy 

Thy thrice-accursed sail ! " 



But now no sound of laughter 

"Was heard among the foes ; 
A wild and wrathful clamor 

From all the vanguard rose. 
Six spears' lengths from the entrance 

Halted that deep array, 
And for.a space no man came forth 

To win the narrow way. 



But, hark ! the cry is Astur : 

And lo ! the ranks divide ; 
And the great lord of Luna 

Comes with his stately stride. 
Upon his ample shoulders 

Clangs loud the fourfold shield. 
And in his hand he shakes the brand 

"Which none but he can wield. 



He smiled on those bold Romans, 

A smile serene and high ; 
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 

And scorn was in his eye. 
Quoth he, " The she-wolf's litter 

Stand savagely at bay ; 
But will ye dare to follow, 

If Astur clears the way ? " 



Then, whirling up his broadsword 

"With both hands to the height, 
He rushed against Horatius, 

And smote with all his might, 
"With shield and blade Horatius 

Right deftly turned the blow. 
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh. 
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigli— 
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 

To see the red blood flow. 



342 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



He reeled, and on Ilerrainius 

He leaned one breathing space — 
Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds. 

Sprang riglit at Astur's face. 
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet, 

So fierce a thrust he sped. 
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out 

Behind the Tuscan's head. 



And the great lord of Luna 

Fell at that deadly stroke, 
As falls on Mount Avernus 

A thunder-smitten oak. 
Far o'er the crashing forest * 

The giant arms lie spread ; 
And the pale augurs, muttering low. 

Gaze on the blasted head. 



On Astur's throat Horatius 

Eight firmly pressed his heel. 
And thrice and four times tugged amain, 

Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
"And see," he cried, "the welcome. 

Fair guests, that waits you here ! 
What noble Lucumo comes next 

To taste our Eoman cheer ? " 



But at his haughty challenge 

A sullen murmur ran, 
Mingled with wrath, and shame, and dread. 

Along that glittering van. 
There lacked not men of prowess. 

Nor men of lordly race ; 
For all Etruria's noblest 

Were round the fatal place. 



But all Etruria's noblest 
Felt their hearts sink to see 

On the earth the bloody corpses, 
In the path the dauntless three , 

And from the ghastly entrance, 
Where those bold Romans stood. 

All shrank— like boys who, unaware, 

Hanging a wood to start a hare, 



Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
Lies amidst bones and blood. 



Was none who would be forenaost 

To lead such dire attack ; 
But those behind cried " Forward ! " 

And those before cried "Back! " 
And backward now, and forward. 

Wavers the deep array ; 
And on the tossing sea of steel 
To and fro the standards i-eel. 
And the victorious trumpet-peal 

Dies fitfully away. 



Yet one man for one moment 

Strode out before the crow d ; 
Well known was he to all the three, 

And they gave him greeting loud : 
"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! 

Now welcome to thy home ! 
Why dost thou stay, and turn away ? 

Here lies the road to Rome." 



Thrice looked he at the city ; 

Thrice looked he at the dead ; 
And thrice came on in fury, 

And thrice turned back in dread ; 
And, white with fear and hatred. 

Scowled at the narrow way 
Where, wallowing i« a pool of blood, 

The bravest Tuscans lay. 



But meanwhile axe and lever 

Have manfully been plied ; 
And now the bridge hangs tottering 

Above the boiling tide. 
" Come back, come back, Horatius ! " 

Loud cried the fathers all — 
" Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius I 

Back, ere the ruin fall ! " 

LIV. 

Back darted Spurius Lartius — 

Herminius darted back ; 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 



IIORATIUS. Zi-.i 


But when they turned their faces, 


So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed 


And on the farther shore 


The good sword by his side. 


Saw brave Iloratius stand alone, 


And, with his harness on his back, 


They would have crossed once more ; 


Plunged headlong in the tide. 


LV. 

But with a crash like thunder 


LX, 


Fell every loosened beam. 


No sound of joy or sorrow 


And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 


Was heard from either bank, 


Lay right athwart the stream ; 


But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 


And a long shout of triumph 


With parted lips and straining eyes. 


Rose from the walls of Rome, 


Stood gazing where he sank ; 


As to the highest turret-tops 


And when above the surges 


Was splashed the yellow foam. 


They saw his crest appear, 




All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 


LVI. 


And even the ranks of Tuscany 


And like a horse unbroken. 


CoiJld scarce forbear to cheer. 


When first he feels the rein, 




The furious river struggled hard, 




And tossed his tawny mane. 


Lxr. 


And burst the curb, and bounded, 


But fiercely ran the current. 


Rejoicing to be free ; 


Swollen high by months of rain , 


And whirling down, in fierce career, 


And fast his blood was flowing ; 


Battlement, and plank, and pier, 


And he was sore in pain. 
And heavy with his armor. 


Rushed headlong to the sea. 


Lvir. 


And spent with changing blows ; 


Alone stood brave Iloratius, 


And oft they thought him sinking, 


But constant still in mind — 


But still again he rose. 


Thrice thirty thousand foes before. 




And the broad flood behind. 


LXII. 


"Down with him! " cried false Sextus, 




With a smile on his pale face ; 


Never, I ween, did swimmer. 


" Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, 


In such an evil case. 


" Now yield thee to our grace ! " 


Struggle through such a raging flood 




Safe to the landing place ; 


LVIII. 


But his limbs were borne up bravely 


Round turned he, as not deigning 


By the brave heart within. 


Those craven ranks to see ; 


And our good father Tiber 


Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, 


Bare bravely up his chin. 


To Sextus nought spake he ; 




But lie saw on Palatinus 




The white porch of his home; 


LXIII, 


And he spake to the noble river 


" Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus, — 


That rolls by the towers of Rome : 


" Will not the villain drown ? 




But for this stay, ere close of day 


LIX. 


We shoidd have sacked the town !" 


"0 Tiber! fatlier Tiber! 


"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, 


To whom the Romans pray, 


" And bring him safe to shore ; 


A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, 


For such a gallant feat of arms 


Take tbou in charge this day ! " 


Was never seen before;" 

1 
1 



344 POEMS OF 


1 
AMBITION. 


LXIY. 


LXIX, 


And now he feels the bottom ; 


^"When the oldest cask is opened. 


Now on dry earth he stands ; 


And the largest lamp is lit ; 


Now round him throng the fathers 


When the chestnuts glow in the embers, 


To press his gory hands ; 


And the kid turns on the spit ; 


And now, with shouts and dapping, 


When young and old in circle 


And noise of weeping loud, 


Around the firebrands close; 


lie enters through the river-gate, 


When the girls are weaving baskets, 


Borne by the joyous crowd. 


And the lads are shaping bows ; 


LXV. 


ixx. 


They gave him of the corn-land, 


When the goodman mends his armor. 


That was of public right, 


And trims his helmet's plume ; 


As much as two strong oxen 


When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 


Could plough from morn till night : 


Goes flashing through the loom ; 


And they made a molten image. 


With weeping and with laughter 


And set it up on high — 


Still is the story told. 


And there it stands unto this day 


How well Iloratius kept the bridge 


To witness if I lie. 


In the brave days of old. 




Lord Macattlak 


LXVI. 




It stands in the comitium, 




Plain for all folk to see, — 


♦ 


IToratius in his harness. 




Halting upon one knee ; 


THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHE- 


And underneath is written, 


RIB. 


In letters all of gold. 




How valiantly he kept the bridge 


The Assyrian came down like the wolf on 


In the brave days of old. 


the fold, 




And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and 


LXVII. 


gold; 


And still his name sounds stirring 


'And the sheen of their spears was like stars 


Unto the men of Rome, 


on the sea. 


As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 


When the blue Avave rolls nightly on deep 


To charge the Volscian home ; 


Galilee. 


And wives still pray to Juno 




For boys with hearts as bold 


Like the leaves of the forest when summer 


As his who kept the bridge so well 


is gi'een. 


In the brave days of old. 


That host with their banners at sunset were 




seen; 


LXVIII. 


Like the leaves of the forest when autumn 


J 

And in the nights of winter, 


hath flown, 


When the cold north winds blow, 


That host on the morrow lay withered and 


And the long howling of the wolv^es 


strown. 


Is heard amidst the snow ; 




When round the lonely cottage 


For the angel of death spread his wings on 


Roars loud the tempest's din, 


the blast. 


And the good logs of Algidus 


And breathed in the foce of the foe as he 


Roar louder yet within ; 


passed ; 



I 



IT IS GREAT rOH OUR COUNTRY TO DIE. 



34; 



And the eyes of the sleepers -waxed doadly 

and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for 

ever grew still ! 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all 

wide. 
But through it there rolled not the breath 

of his pride ; 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on 

the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating 

surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale. 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on 

his mail ; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners 

alone. 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their 

wail; 
A)id the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by 

the sword, 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the 

Lord! 

Lord Bykon. 



HAEMODIUS AND ARISTOGEITOK 

I 'll wreathe my sword in myrtle bough, 
The sword that laid the tyrant low, 
When patriots burning to be free. 
To Athens gave equality. 

Harmodius, hail! though 'reft of breath, 
Thou ne'er shalt feel the stroke of death ; 
The heroes' happy isles shall be 
The bright abode allotted thee. 

I '11 wreathe my sword in myrtle bough, 
The sword that laid Hipparchus low, 
Wlien at Athena's adverse fane 
He knelt, and never rose again. 

While freedom's name is understood, 
You shall deliglit the wise and good ; 
You dared to set your country free, 
And gave her laws equality. 

Transltition of Lord Desman. Callisteatus (Greek). 

48 



IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY 
TO DIE. 

Oh ! it is great for our country to die, where 
ranks are contending : 
Bright is the wreath of our fame ; glory 
awaits us for aye — 
Glory, that never is dim, shining on with 
light never ending — 
Glory that never shall fade, never, oh ! 
never away. 

Oh ! it is sweet for our country to die ! How 
softly reposes 
Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the 
tears of his love. 
Wet by a mother's warm tears ; they crown 
him with garlands of roses, 
Weep, and then joyously turn, bright 
where he triumphs above. 

Not to the shades shall the youth descend^ 
who for country hath perished ; 
Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him 
there with her smile ; 
There, at the banquet divine, the patriot 
spirit is cherished ; 
Gods love the young who ascend pure from 
the funeral pile. 

Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious 
river ; 
Not to the isles of the blest, over the 
blue, rolling sea ; 
But on Olympian heights shall dwell the de- 
voted for ever ; 
There shall assemble the good, there the 
wise, valiant, and free. 

Oh ! then, how great for our country to die, 
in the front rank to perish. 
Firm with our breast to the foe, victory's 
shout in our ear ! 
Long they our statues shall crown, in songs 
our memory cherish ; 
We shall look forth from our heaven, 
pleased the sweet music to hear. 

James Gates Peboival. 



346 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



LEONIDAS. 

Shout for the mighty men 

Who died along this shore, 

Who died within this mountain's glen ! 

For never nobler chieftain's head 

Was laid on valor's crimson bed, 
Nor ever prouder gore 

Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day 

Upon thy strand, ThermopyliB ! 



Shout for the mighty men 

Wlio on the Persian tents, 
Like lions from their midnight den 
Bounding on the slumbering deer, 
Eushed — a storm of sword and spear ; 

Like the roused elements, 
Let loose from an immortal hand 
To chasten or to crush a land ! 



But there are none to heai* — 

Greece is a hopeless slave. 
Leonidas ! no hand is near 
To lift thy fiery falchion now ; 
No warrior makes the warrior's vow 

Upon thy sea-washed grave. 
The voice that should be raised by men 
Must now be given by wave and glen. 

And it is given ! — the surge, 

The tree, the rock, the sand 
On freedom's kneeling spirit urge. 
In sounds that speak but to the free. 
The memory of thine and thee ! 

The vision of thy band 
Still gleams within the glorious dell 
Where their gore hallowed as it fell ! 



And is thy grandeur done? 

Mother of men like these ! 
Has not thy outcry gone 
Whore justice has an ear to hear ? — 
Be holy ! God shall guide thy spear, 

Till in thy crimsoned seas 
Are plunged the chain and scimitar. 
Greece shall be a new-born star ! 

George Cuolt. 



PERICLES AND ASPASIA. 

This was the ruler of the land 

When Athens was the land of fame ; 

This was the light that led the band 
When each was like a living flame ; 

The centre of earth's noblest ring — 

Of more than men the nioi-e than king. 

Yet not by fetter, nor by spear. 
His sovereignty was held or won : 

Feared — but alone as freemen fear, 
Loved — but as freemen love alone, 

He waved the sceptre o'er his kind 

By nature's first great title — mind ! 

Eesistless words were on his tongue — 
Then eloquence first flashed below ; 

Full armed to life the portent sprung — 
Minerva from the thunderer's brow! 

And his the sole, the sacred hand 

That shook her ajgis o'er the land. 

And throned immortal by his side, 
A woman sits with eye sublime, — 

Aspasia, all his spirit's bride ; 

But, if their solemn love were crime, 

Pity the beauty and the sage — 

Their crime was in their darkened age. 

He perished, but his wreath was won — 
He perished in his height of fame ; 

Then sunk the cloud on Athens' sun, 
Yet still she conquered in his name. 

Filled with his soul, she could not die ; 

Her conquest was posterity ! 

Geokge Ckoly 



BOADICEA. 

When the British warrior queen. 
Bleeding from the Roman rods. 

Sought, with an indignant mien, 
Counsel of her country's gods, 

Sage beneath the spreading oak 
Sat the druid, hoary chief; 

Every burning word he spoke 
Full of rage and fall of grief. 



THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL. 



2i1 



Princess ! if our aged eyes 

"Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
'T is because resentment ties 

All the terrors of our tongues. 



Rome shall perish — write that word 
In the blood that she has spilt ; 

Perish, hopeless and abhorred. 
Deep in ruin as in guilt, 

Rome, for empire far renowned, 
Tramples on a thousand states ; 

Soon her pride shall kiss the ground — 
Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ! 

Other Romans shall arise. 
Heedless of a soldier's name ; 

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 
Harmony the path to fame. 

Then the progeny that springs 
From the forests of our land. 

Armed Avith thunder, clad with wings, 
Shall a wider world command. 

Regions Csesar never knew 

Thy posterity shall sway ; 
Where his eagles never flew, 

None invincible as they. 

Such the bard's prophetic words, 
Pregnant with celestial fire. 

Bending as he swept the chords 
Of his sweet but aAvful lyre. 

She, with all a monarch's pride, 
Felt them in her bosom glow : 

Rushed to battle, fought, and died ; 
Dying, hurled them at the foe. 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud. 

Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 
Empire is on us bestowed, 

Shame and ruin wait for you. 

William Cowpee. 



THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL. 



KiXG Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the 

trumpet sound. 
He hath summoned all the Moorish lords from 

the hills and plains around ; 
From Vega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil, 
They have come with helm and cuirass of 

gold and twisted steel. 

II. 

'T is the holy Baptist's feast they hold in roy- 
alty and state. 

And they have closed the spacious lists beside 
the Alhambra's gate ; 

In gowns of black, and silver-laced, within 
the tented ring, 

Eight Moors, to fight the bull, are placed in 
presence of the king. 



Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stal- 
wart arm and true, 

The onset of the beasts abide, come trooping 
furious through ; 

The deeds they 've done, the spoils they 've 
won, fill all with hope and trust ; 

Yet, ere high in heaven appears the sun, they 
all have bit the dust. 



Then sounds the trumpet clearly ; then clanga 

the loud tambour : 
Make room, make room for Gazul — throw 

wide, throw wide the door ! 
Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still, more 

loudly strike the drum — 
The Alcayde of Algava to fight the bull doth 



And first before the king he passed, Avith rev- 
erence stooping loAV, 

And next he bowed him to the queen, and 
the infantas all a-rowe ; 

Then to his lady's grace he turned, and she to 
him did throw 

A scarf from out her balcony, was AA'hiter 
than the snow. 



SIS 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



With the life-blood of the slaughtered lords 

nil slippery is the sand, 
Yet proudly in the centre hath Gazul ta'en 

his stand ; 
And ladies look with heaving breast, and 

lords with anxious eye — 
But the lance is firmly in its rest, and his 

look is calm and high. 



Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and 

two come roaring on ; 
He rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his 

rejon; 
Each furious beast upon the breast he deals 

him such a blow, 
He blindly totters and gives back, across the 

sand to go. 



•' Turn, Gazul, turn," the people cry — " the 
third comes up behind ; 

Low to the sand his head holds he, his nos- 
trils snuff the wind ; " 

The mountaineers that lead the steers with- 
out stand whispering low, 

"Now thinks this proud Alcayde to stim 
Harpado so ? " 



From Guadiana comes he not, he comes not 

from Xenil, 
From Guadalarif of the plain, or Barves of 

the hill ; 
But where from out the forest burst Xarama's 

waters clear. 
Beneath the oak trees was he nursed, this 

prou<l and stately steer. 



Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood 

within doth boil ; 
And tlio dun hide glows, as if on fire, as he 

l)aws to the turmoil. 
His eyes are jet, and they are set in crystal 

rings of snow; 
But now they stare with one red glare of 

brass upon the foe. 



Upon the forehead of the bull the horns stand 

close and near. 
From out the broad and wrinkled skull like 

daggers they appear ; 
His neck is massy, like the trunk of some old 

knotted tree. 
Whereon the monster's shagged mane, like 

billows curled, ye see. 



His legs are short, his hams are thick, hia 
hoofs are black as night. 

Like a strong flail he holds his tail in fierce- 
ness of his might ; 

Like something molten out of iron, or hewn 
from forth the rock, 

Harpado of Xarama stands, to bide the Al- 
cayde's shock. 



Now stops the drum — close, close they come 
— thrice meet, and thrice give back ; 

The white foam of Harpado lies on the char- 
ger's breast of black — 

The white foam of tlie cliarger on Harpado'a 
front of dun : 

Once more advance upon his lance — once 
more, thou fearless one ! 



Once more, once more — in dust and gore to 

ruin must thou reel ; 
In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with 

furious heel — 
In vain, in vain, thou noble beast, I see, I see 

thee stagger ; 
Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the 

stern Alcayde's dagger ! 



They have slipped a noose around his feet 
six horses are brouglit in. 

And away they drag Harpado with a loud 
and joyful din. 

Now stoop thee, lady, from thy stand, anil 
the ring of price bestow 

Upon Gazul of Algava, that hath laid Har- 
pado low. 

Anonymous. (Spanish.) 
Translation of .Ton:!* Gibson Lockiiakt. 



CHEVY- 


-CHASE. 340 




The hounds ran swiftly through the 


CHEVY-CHASE. 


woods. 
The nimble deer to take. 


God prosper long our noble king, 
Our lives and safeties all ; 


That with their cries the hills and dales 
An echo shrill did make. 


A woful hunting once there did 




In ChevY-Chase hefoll. 


Lord Percy to the quarry Avent, 




To vieAV the slaughtered deer ; 


To drive the deer with hound and horn 
Earl Percy took his way ; 


Quoth he, " Earl Douglas promised 
This day to meet me here ; 


The child may rue that is unborn 




The hunting of that day. 


But if I thought he Avould not come, 




No longer would I stay ; " 


The stout earl of Northumberland 


With that a brave young gentleman 


A vow to God did make, 


Thus to the earl did say : 


His pleasure in the Scottish woods 




Three summer days to take — 


"Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come 




His men in armor bright ; 


Tlie chiefest harts in Chevy-Chase 


Full tAventy hundred Scottish spears 


To kill and bear away. 


All marching in our sight ; 


These tidings to Earl Douglas came. 




In Scotland where he lay ; 


All men of pleasant Teviotdale, 




Fast by the river Tweed ; " 


Who sent Earl Percy present Avord 


"Then cease your sports," Earl Percy 


He would prevent his sport. 


said, 


The English earl, not fearing that. 


" And take your bows with speed; 


Did to the woods resort. 






And now Avith me, my countrymen, 


With fifteen hundred boAvmen bold, 


Your courage forth advance ; 


All chosen men of mightj 


For never Avas there champion yet, 


Who kncAV full Avell in time of need 


In Scotland or in France, 


To aim their shafts aright. 






That ever did on horseback come, 


The gallant greyhounds SAviftly ran 


But if my hap it Avere, 


To chase the fallow deer ; 


I durst encounter man for man, 


On Monday they began to hunt 


With him to break a spear." 


When day-light did appear ; 






Earl Douglas on his milk-Avhite steed, 


And long before high noon they had 


Most like a baron bold. 


A hundred fat bucks slain ; 


Eode foremost of his company, 


Then having dined, the drovers Avent 


Whose armor shone like gold. 


To rouse the deer again. 






"Show me," said he, "Avhose men you 


Tlie boAvmen mustered on the hills. 


be. 


Well able to endure ; 


That hunt so boldy-here, 


And all their rear, Avith special care. 


That, without my consent, do chase 


That day Avas guarded sure. 


And kill my falloAV-deer." 



350 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


The first man that did answer make, 


His host he parted had in three, 


Was noble Percy he — 


As leader ware and tried ; 


"Who said, " We list not to declare, 


And soon his spearmen on their foes 


'N'or show whose men we be : 


Bore down on every side. 


Yet will we spend our dearest blood 


Throughout the English archery 


Thy chiefest harts to slay." 


They dealt full many a wound; 


Tlien Douglas swore a solemn oath, 


But still our valiant Englishmen 


And thus in rage did say : 


All firmly kept their ground. 


" Ere thus I will out-braved be, 


And throwing straight their bows away 


One of us two shall die ; 


They grasped their swords so bright ; 


I know thee well, an earl thou art — 


And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, 


Lord Percy, so am I. 


On shields and helmets light. 


But trust me, Percy, pity it were. 


They closed full fast on every side — 


And great offence, to kill 


No slackness there was found ; 


Any of these our guiltless men. 


And many a gallant gentleman 


For they have done no ill. 


Lay gasping on the ground. 


Let you and me the battle try. 


In truth, it was a grief to see 


And set our men aside." 


How each one chose his spear. 


" Accursed be he," Earl Percy said, 


And how the blood out of their breasts 


" By whom this is denied." 


Did gush like water clear. 


Then stepped a gallant squire forth. 


At last these two stout earls did meet ; 


Witherington was his name. 


Like captains of great might. 


Who said, " I would not have it told 


Like lions wode, they laid on lode, 


To Henry, our king, for shame, 


And made a cruel fight. 


That e'er my captain fought on foot. 


They fought until they both did sweat, 


And I stood looking on. 


With swords of tempered steel. 


You two be earls," said Witherington, 


Until the blood, like drops of rain. 


" And I a squire alone ; 


They trickling down did feel. 


I '11 do the best that do I may. 


" Yield thee. Lord Percy," Douglas said 


While I have power to stand ; 


" In faith I will thee bring 


While I have power to wield my sword, 


Where thou shalt high advanced be 


I '11 fight with heart and hand." 


By James, our Scottish king. 


Our English archers bent their bows — 


Thy ransom I will freely give. 


Their hearts were good and true ; 


And this report of thee. 


iVt the first flight of arrows sent. 


Thou art the most courageous knight 


Full fourscore Scots they slew. 


That ever I did see." 


Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent. 


"No, Douglas," saith Earl Percy then. 


As chieftain stout and good ; 


" Thy proffer I do scorn ; 


As valiant captain, all unmoved, 


I will not yield to any Scot 


The shock he firinly stood. 


That ever yet was horn." 



I 



CilEVY-CHASE, 



351 



With that there came an arrow keen 

Out of an English bow, 
Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart ; 

A deep and deadly blow ; 

"Who never spake more words than 
these : 

"Fight on, my merry men all ; 
For why, my life is at an end ; 

Lord Percy sees my fall." 

Then leaving life, Earl Percy took 
The dead man by the hand ; 

And said, "Earl Douglas, for thy life 
Would I had lost my land. 

In truth, my very heart doth bleed 

With sorrow for thy sake ; 
For sure a more redoubted knight 

Mischance did never take." 

A knight amongst the Scots there was 

Who saw Earl Douglas die. 
Who straight iu wrath did vow revenge 

Upon the Eai'l Percy. 

Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he called, 
Who, with a spear full bright, 

AVell mounted on a gallant steed, 
Ean fiercely through the fight; 

And past the Englisli archers all, 

Without a dread or fear ; 
And through Earl Percy's body then 

He thrust his hateful spear ; 

With such vehement force and might 

He did his body gore, 
The staff ran through the other side 

A large cloth-yard and more. 

So thus did both these nobles die. 
Whose courage none could stain. 

An English archer then perceived 
The noble earl was slain. 

He had a bow bent in his hand. 

Made of a trusty tree ; 
An arrow of a cloth-yard long 

To the hard head haled he. 



Against Sir Hugh Mountgomery 

So right the shaft he set. 
The gray goose wing that was thereon 

In his heart's blood was wet. 

This fight did last from break of day 

Till setting of the sun : 
For when they rung the evening-bell. 

The battle scarce "was done. 

With stout Earl Percy there Avere slain 

Sir John of Egerton, 
Sir Eobert Pvatcliff, and Sir John, 

Sir James, that bold baron. 

And with Sir George and stout Sh 
James, 

Both knights of good account, 
Good Sir Kalph Raby there was slain. 

Whose prowess did surmount. 

For Witherington my heart is wo 
That ever he slain should be. 

For when his legs were hewn in two, 
He knelt and fought on his knee. 

And with Earl Douglas there was slain 

Sir Hugh Mountgomery, 
Sir Charles Murray, that from the field 

One foot would never flee. 

Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too — 

His sister's son was he ; 
Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, 

But saved he could not be. 

And the Lord Maxwell in like case 

Did with Earl Douglas die : 
Of twenty hundred Scottish spears, 

Scarce fifty-five did fly. 

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, 

Went home but fifty-three ; 
The rest in Chevy-Chase were slain. 

Under the greenwood tree. 

Next day did many widows come. 

Their husbands to bewail ; 
They washed their wounds in brinish 
tears, 

But all would not prevail. 



352 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Their bodies, bathed in purple blood, 
They bore with them away ; 

They kissed them dead a thousand 
times, 
Ere they were clad in clay. 

The news was brought to Edinburgh, 
Where Scotland's king did reign, 

That bravo Earl Douglas suddenly 
Was with an arrow slain : 

" Oh heavy news," King James did say ; 

"Scotland can witness be 
I have not any captain more 

Of such account as he." 

Like tidings to King Henry came 

"Within as short a space. 
That Percy of Northumberland 

Was slain in Chevy-Chase : 

" Now God be Avith him," said our king, 

" Since 't will no better be ; 
I trust I have within my realm 

Five Imndred as good as he : 

Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say 

But I will vengeance take : 
I '11 be revenged on them all. 

For brave Earl Percy's sake." 

This vow full well the king performed 

After at Humbledown ; 
In one day fifty knights were slain 

With lords of high renown ; 

And of the rest, of small account, 

Did many hundreds die : 
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy- 
Chase, 

Made by the Earl Percy. 

God save the king, and bless this land. 
With plenty, joy, and peace ; 

And grant, henceforth, that foul debate 
'Twixt noblemen may cease ! 

Anonymous. 



THE BALLAD OF AGINCOUET. 

Fair stood the wind for France, 
When we our sails advance, 
Nor now to prove our chance 

Longer will tarry ; 
But putting to the main. 
At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, 
With all his martial train, 

Lauded King Harry. 

And taking many a fort. 
Furnished in warlike sort, 
Marched towards Agincourt 

In happy hour — 
Skirmishing day by day 
With those that stopped his way. 
Where the French gen'ral lay 

With all his power, 

Which in his height of pride, 
King Henry to deride, 
His ransom to provide 

To the king sending; 
Which he neglects the while, 
As from a nation vile. 
Yet, with an angry smile, 

Their fall portending. 

And turning to his men. 
Quoth our brave Henry then : 
Though they to one be ten, 

Be not amazed ; 
Yet have we well begun — 
Battles so bravely won 
Have ever to the sun 

By fame been raised. 

And for myself, quoth ho. 
This my full rest shall be ; 
England ne'er mourn for m . . 

,Nor more esteem me. 
Victor I will remain, 
Or on this earth lie slain ; 
Never shall she sustain 

Loss to redeem me. 

Poitiers and Cressy tell. 
When most their pride did swell, 
Under our swords they fell ; 
No less our skill is 



THE CAVALIER'S SONG. 



Boa 



Than when our grandsire great, 
Claiming the regal seat, 
By many a warlike feat 

Lopped the French lilies. 

The duke of York so dread 
The eager vaward led ; 
"With the main Henry sped, 

Amongst his henchmen. 
Excester had the rear — 
A braver man not there ; 
O Lord ! how hot they were 

On the ftilse Frenchmen ! 

They now to fight are gone ; 
Armour on armour shone ; 
Drum now to drum did groan — 

To hear was wonder ; 
That with the cries they make 
The very earth did shake ; 
Trumpet to trumpet spake, 

Thunder to thunder. 

Well it thine age became, 
O noble Erpingham ! 
Which did the signal aim 

To our hid forces ; 
When, from a meadow by. 
Like a storm suddenly, 
The English archery 

Struck the French horses, 

With Spanish yew so strong, 
Arrows a cloth-yard long, 
That like to serpents stung. 

Piercing tlie weather ; 
None from his fellow starts. 
But playing manly parts. 
And like true English hearts, 

Stuck close together. 

When down their bovrs they threw. 
And forth their bilbows drew. 
And on the French they flew, 

Not one Avas tardy : 
Arms were from shoulders sent ; 
Scalps to the teeth were rent ; 
Down the French peasants went ; 

Our men were hardy. 
49 



This while our noble king, 
His broadsword brandishing, 
Down the French host did ding, 

As to o'erwhelm it ; 
And many a deep wound lent. 
His arms with blood besprent, 
And many a cruel dent 

Bruised his helmet. 

Glo''ster, that duke so good, 
Next of the royal blood, 
For famous England stood, 

With his brave brother — 
Clarence, in steel so bright, 
Though but a maiden knight, 
Yet in that furious fight 

Scarce such another. 

Warwick in blood did wade ; 
Oxford the foe invade, 
And cruel slaughter made, 

Still as they ran up. 
Suffolk his axe did ply; 
Beaumont and Willoughby 
Bare them right doughtily, 

Ferrers and Fanhope. 

TJpon Saint Crispin's day 
Fought was this noble fray, 
Which fame did not delay 

To England to carry ; 
Ob, when shall Englishmen 
With such acts fill a pen. 
Or England breed again 

Such a King Harry ? 

Michael Drayton. 



THE CAVALIER'S SONG. 

A STEED ! a steed of matchlesse speed, 

A sword of metal keene ! 
All else to noble heartes is drosse. 

All else on earth is meane. 
The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde. 

The rowlinge of the drum, 
The clangor of the trumpet lowde, 

Be soundes from heaven that come ; 
And oh ! the thundering presse of knightes, 

Whenas tlieir war cryes swell. 
May tole from heaven an angel bright, 

And rouse a fiend from hell. 



354 POEMS OF 


AMBITION.- 


Then monnte! then mounte, brave gallants 


For the onslaught all were eager 


all, . 


When the word sped round our leaguer: 


And don your licliiies aniaiuo : 


" Soon as the clock chimes twelve to-night 


Dcatbe's couriers, fame and honor, call 


Then, bold hearts, sound boot and saddle, 


Us to the field againe. 


Stand to your arms, and on to battle, 


No shrewish teares shall fill our eye 


Every one that has hands to fight ! " 


When the sword-hilt 's in our hand — 




Heart whole we '11 part, and no whit sighe 




For the fayrest of the land ; 


Musqucteers, horse, yagers, forming. 


Let piping swaino, and craven wight, 


Sword in hand each bosom warming. 


Thus wecpe and puling crye ; 


Still as death we all advance ; 


Our business is like men to fight, 


Each prepared, come blows or booty. 


And hero-like to die ! 


German-like to do our duty, 


"WiLLtAlt MOTHEEVTELL. 


Joining hands in tlie gallant dance. 




Our cannoneers, those tough old heroes. 




StjLuck a lusty peal to cheer us, 


• 

PEINOE EUGENE. 


^Firing ordnance great and small ; 
Kiglit and left our cannon thundered, 




Till the pagans quaked, and wondered, 


Pkince EuGExn, our noble leader. 


And by platoons began to fall. 


Made a vow in death to bleed, or 




^Yin the emperor back Belgrade : 




" Launch pontoons, let all be ready 


On the right, like a lion angered. 


To bcai" our ordnance safe and steady 


Bold Eugene cheered on the bold vanguard; 


Over the Danube" — thus he said. 


Ludovic spurred up and down. 




Crjdng " On, boys ; every hand to 't ; 




Brother Germans nobly stand to 't ; 


There was mustering on the border 


Cliarge them home, for our old renown 1 " 


When our bridge in marching order 




Breasted first the roaring stream ; 




Then at Semliu, vengeance breathing. 


Gallant prince ! he spoke no more ; he 


We encamped to scourge the heathen 


Fell in early youth and glory, 


Back to Mahound, and fame redeem. 


Struck from his horse by some curst ball : 




Great Eugene long sorrowed o'er him, 


'T Avas on August oue-and-twenty, 
Scouts and glorious tidings plenty 


For a brother's love he bore him ; 
Every soldier mourned his fall. 


Galloped in, through storm and rain ; 




Turks, they swore, three hundred thousand 


In Waradin v^-e laid his ashes ; 


Marched to give our prince a rouse, and 
Darod us forth to battle-plain. 


Cannon peals and musket flashes 
O'er his grave due honors paid : 




Then, the old black eagle flying, 


Then at Prince Eugene's head-quarters 
Met our fine old fighting Tartars 


All the pagan powers defying, 

On we marched and stormed Belgrade. 


Generals and field marshals all ; 


Anonymocs. (German.) 


Every point of war debated. 


Translation of John IIugiies. 


Each in his turn the signal waited, 




Forth to march and on to fall. 







IVRY. 



355 



ROBERT BRUCE's ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 

Scots, wlia hae wi' Wallace bled— 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led— 
"Welcome to your gory bod, 
Or to victorie ! 

N"ow 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lower ; 
See approach proud Edward's power- 
Chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
WJia can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae.base as be a slave ? 
Let hira turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw. 
Freeman stand or freeman fa' — 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usui-pers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty 's in every blow ! 
Let us do, or die ! 

Robert Burns. 



IVRY. 

N"ow glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom 

all glories are ! 
And glory to our sovereign liege, Xing Henry 

of Navarre ! 
Now let there be the merry md of music 

and of danoe. 
Through thy corn-field.^ green, and sunny 

vines, pleasant land of France ! 



And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud 

city of the waters. 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy 

mourning daughters; 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous 

in our joy ; 
For cold and stiff and still are they who 

wrought thy walls annoy. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned 

the chance of war ! 
Hurrali! hurrah! for Ivry, and Henry of 

Navarre. 

Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at 

the dawn of day. 
We saw the army of the league di-awn out in 

long array ; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel 

peers, 
And Appenzel's stout infontry, and Egmont's 

Flemish spears. 
Tliero rode the brood of folse Lorraine, the \ 

curses of our land ; 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a trun- 
cheon in his hand ; 
And, as wo looked on them, we thought ot 

Seine's empurpled flood, 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled 

with his blood ; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules 

the fate of war, 
To fight for His own holy name, and Henry 
of Navarre. 



The king is come to marshal us, in all his 

armor drest ; 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon 

his gallant crest. 
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in 

his eye ; 
He looked upon the traitors, and liis glance 

was stern and high. 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled 

, from wing to wing, 
Down All our line, a deafening shout: God 

save our lord the king ! 
" And if my standard-bearer f\ill, as fall full 

well he may — 
For never I saw promise yet of such a bloody 

fray— 



356 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Press where ye see my wLite plume shine 

amidst the ranks of war, 
And he your oriliamme to-day the hehnet of 

Navarre," 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving. ITark to the 
mingled din, 

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and di'um, and 
roaring culverin. 

The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint 
Andre's plain, 

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and 
Almayne. 

Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentle- 
men of France, 

Charge for the golden lilies — upon them Avith 
the lance ! 

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thou- 
sand spears in rest, 

A thousand knights are pressing close behind 
the snow-white crest ; 

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, 
like a guiding star. 

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the hel- 
met of Navarre. 

Now, God be praised, the day is ours : Ma- 
yenne hath turned liis rein ; 

D'Aumale hath cried for quarter ; the Flem- 
ish count is slain ; 

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds be- 
fore a Biscay gale ; 

The field is heaped Vt^ith bleeding steeds, and 
flags, and cloven mail. 

And then we thought on vengeance, and, all 
along om* van, 

Eemember Saint Bartholomew ! was passed 
from man to man. 

But out spake gentle Henry — " No Fi-ench- 
man is my foe : 

Down, down, with every foreigner, but let 
your brethren go " — 

Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friend- 
ship or in war, 

As our sovereign lord. King Henry, the sol- 
dier of Navarre ? 

Eight well fought all the Fi-enchmen who 

fought for France to-day ; 
And many a lordly banner God gave them 

for a prey. 



But we of the religion have borne us best in 

fight; 
And the good lord of Eosny hath ta'en the 

cornet white — 
Our own true Maximilian the cornet white 

hath ta'en, 
The cornet white with crosses black, the flag 

of false Lorraine. 
Up with it high; unfurl it wide — that all the 

host may know 
How God hath humbled the proud house 

which wrought His Church such woe. 
Then on the ground, while trumpets sound 

their loudest point of war, 
Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for 

Henry of Navarre. 

Ho! maidens of Yiemia; ho! matrons of 

Lucerne — 
"Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who 

never shall return. 
Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican 

pistoles, 
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy 

poor spearmen's souls. 
Ho ! gallant nobles of the league, look that 

your arras be bright ; 
Ho ! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch 

and ward to-night ; 
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our 

God hath raised the slave. 
And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the 

valor of the brave. 
Then glory to His holy name, from Avhom all 

glories are ; 
And glory to our sovereign lord. King Henry 

of Navarre ! 

Lord Macaulay. 



GIVE A EOUSE. 



King Cdaeles, and who '11 do him right 

now ? 
King Chai'les, and who 's ripe fur fight now ? 
Give a rouse : here 's in hell's despite now, 
Kino- Charles ! 



M 



NASEBY 



357 



WIio gave me the goods that went since ? 
Who raised me the house that sank once ? 
Wlio helped me to gold I spent since ? 
Wlio found me in wine yon drank once ? 
King Charles^ and wlio HI do himright noic ? 
King Charles, and wlio 's ripe for fight noio ? 
Give a rouse : here 's in hclVs despite note, 
King Charles ! 



To whom used my boy George quaff else, 
By the old fool's side that begot him ? 
For whom did he cheer and laugh else, 
"While Noll's damned troopers shot him ? 
King Charles., and who Ul do him rigid now ? 
King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now ? 
Give a rouse : here 's in helVs despite now, 
King Charles ! 

Robert Bkowning. 



NASEBY. 

On ! wherefore come ye forth in triumph 
from the north, 

With yom* hands, and your feet, and your rai- 
ment all red? 

And wherefore doth your rout send forth a 
joyous shout? 

And whence be the grapes of the wine-press 
that ye tread ? 

Oh! evil was the root, and bitter was the 

fruit. 
And crimson was the juice of the \'intage that 

• Ave trod ; 
For we trampled on the throng of the haughty 

and the strong. 
Who sate in the high places and slew the 

saints of God. 

It was about the noon of a glorious day of 

June, 
That we saw their banners dance and their 

cuirasses shine, 
And the man of blood vras there, with his 

long essenced hair. 
And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Kupert 

of the Rhine. 



Like a servant of the Lord, with his bible and 
his sword. 

The genei-al rode along us to form us for the 
tight; 

When a murmuring sound broke out, and 
swelled into a shout 

Among the godless horsemen upon the ty- 
rant's right. 

And hark! like the roar of the billows on the 

shore. 
The cry of battle rises along their charging 

hue : 
For God ! for the cause ! for the Church ! for 

the laws ! 
For Charles, king of England, and Eupert of 

the Rhine ! 

The furious German comes, with his clarions 
and his drums. 

His bravoes of Alsatia and pages of White- 
hall; 

They are bursting on our flanks ! Grasp your 
pikes ! Close your ranks ! 

For Rupert never comes, but to conquer, or 
to &11. 

They are here — they rush on — we are bro- 
ken — we are gone — 

Our left is borne before them like stubble on 
the blast. 

Lord, put forth thy might ! O Lord, defend 
the right! 

Stand back to back, in God's name ! and fight 
it to the last ! 

Stout Skippen hath a wound — the centre Lath 

given ground. 
Hark! hark! what means the trampling of 

horsemen on our rear? 
WLose banner do I see, boys ? ' Tis he ! thank 

God ! 't is he, boys ! 
Bear up another minute! Brave Oliver ia 

here ! 

Their heads all stooping low, their points aU 

in a row: 
Like a wliirlwiud on the trees, hke a deluge 

on the dikes, 



353 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of 


And she of the seven hills shall mourn her 


the accurst, 


children's ills. 


And at a sliock have scattered the forest of 


And tremble when she thinks on the edge of 


his pikes. 


England's sword ; 




And the kings of earth in fear shall shudder 


Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook 


when they hear 


to hide 


What the hand of God hath wrought for the 


Their covs^ard heads, predestined to rot on 


hous<:;s and the word ! 


Temple Bar ; 


Lord Macatjlat. 


And he — he turns ! he flies ! shame on tliose 




cruel ej'cs 




That bore to look on torture, and dare not 
look on war ! 






Ho, comrades ! scour the plain ; and ere ye 


AN HOEATIAN ODE, 


strip the slain, 




First give another stab to make your search 


Tipox Cromwell's eeturn feom ieeland. 


secure ; 




Then shake from sleeves and pockets their 


The forward youth that would appear, 


broad-pieces and lockets. 


Must now forsake his Muses dear ; 


The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the 


For in the shadows sing 


poor. 


His nmnbers languishing. 


Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and 
your hearts were gay and bold, 

When you kissed your lily hands to your le- 
mans to-day ; 

And to-morrow shall the fox from her cham- 


'T is time to leave the books in dust. 
And oil the unused armor's rust ; 
Removing from the wall 


The corslet of the hall. 


bers in the rocks 




Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the 


So restless Cromwell coidd not cease 


pi-ey. 


In the inglorious arts of peace, 




But through adventurous war 


Where be yom* tongues, that late mocked at 


Urged his active star ; 


heaven, and hell, and fate ? 




And the fingers that once were so busy with 

your blades ? 
Your perfumed satin clothes, yoin- catches 

and your oaths ? 
Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your dia- 


And like the three-forked lightning, first 


Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, 
Did thorough his own side 
His fiery way divide. 


monds and your spades? 






For 'tis all one to courage high, 


Down! down! for ever down, with the mitre 


The emulous, or enemy ; 

And, with such, to enclose 


and the crown ! 
With the Belial of the court, and the Mam- 


Is more than to oppose. 


mon of the Pope ! 
There is woe in Oxford halls, there is wail in 


Then burning through the air he went, 


Durham's stalls ; 


And palaces and temples rent ; 


The Jesuit smites his bosom, the bishop rends 
his cope. 


And Cajsar's head at last 
Did through his laurels blast. 



AN HORATIAN ODE. 350 




'Ti3 madness to resist or blame 
The face of angry heaven's flame ; 
And, if we would speak true, 
Much to the man is due, 


This was that memorable hour. 
Which first assured the forced power; 

So, when they did design 

The Capitol's first line. 


Who, from his private gardens, where 
He lived reserved and austere, 

(As if his highest plot 

To plant tlie bergamot,) 


A bleeding head, where they begun. 
Did fright the architects to run; 
And yet in that the state 
Foresaw its happy fate. 




Could by industrious valor climb 
To ruin the great work of time, 
And cast the kingdoms old 
Into another mould ! 


And now the Irish are ashamed 
To see themselves in one year tamed ; 
So much one man can do, 
That does both act and know. 




Though justice against fate complain, 

And plead the ancient rights in vain— 

But those do hold or break. 

As men are strong or weak. 


They can afiirm his praises best, 
And have, though overcome, confest 
How good he is, how just, 
And fit for highest trust: 




Nature, that hateth emptiness, 

Allows of penetration less. 

And therefore must make room 
AVhere greater spirits come. 


N'or yet grown stiffer by command. 
But still in the republic's hand. 
How fit he is to sway 
That can so well obey. 




"What field of aU the civil war, 
Where his were not the deepest scar? 

And Hampton shows what part 

He had of wiser art : 


He to the commons' feet presents 
A kingdom for his first year's rents, 
And, w^hat he may, forbears 
His fame to make it theirs : 




Where, twining subtle fears with hope, 
He wove a net of such a scope 

That Charles himself might chase 
To Carisbrook's narrow case ; 


And has his sword and spoils uugirt, 
To lay them at the public's skirt. 
So when the falcon high 
Falls heavy from the sky. 




That thence the royal actor borne, 
The tragic scaffold might adorn. 
While round the armed bands 
Did clap their bloody hands, 


She, having killed, no more docs search 
But on the next green bougli to perch ; 
Where, when he first does lure. 
The falconer has her sure. 




He nothing common did or mean 
Upon that memorable scene ; 
But with his keener eye 
The axe's edge did try : 


What may not then oar isle presume, 
While victory his crest does plume ? 
What may not others fear 
If thus he crowns each year ? 




Nor called the gods, with vulgar spite, 
To vindicate his helj^less right ; 

But bowed his comely head 

Down, as upon a bed. 


As Cffisar he, ere long, to Gaul ; 

To Italy an Hannibal ; 

And to all states not free 
Shall climacteric be. 











3G0 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



The Pict no shelter now shall find 
"Within his pfirti-colored mind ; 
But from this valor sad 
Shrink underneath the plaid, 

Happy, if in the tufted brake 
The English hunter him mistake, 

Nor lay his hounds in near 

The Caledonian deer. 

But thou, the war's and fortune's son, 

March indefatigahly on; 
And, for the last effect, 
Still keep the sword erect! 

Besides the force it has to fright 

The spirits of tlie shady night, 
The same arts that did gain 
A power, must it maintain. 

Andkew Makvell. 



SONNETS. 

TO THE LOED GENEEA.L CROMWELL. 

Cromwell, our chief of men, Avho through a 

cloud 
Not of war on.y, but detractions rude. 
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude. 
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast 

ploughed, 
And on the neck of crowned fortune proud 
Ilast reared God's trophies, and his work 

pursued, 
While Darwen stream with blood of Scots 

imbrued. 
And Dunbar field resounds thy prai-ses loud. 
And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much 

remains 
To conquer still ; peace hath her victories 
No less renowned than war. New foes arise 
Viireatcning to bind our souls with secular 

chains: 
Help us to save free conscience from the 

paw 
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their 

maw. 



ox THE DETRACTIOIf WHIGir FOLLOWED UPON 
MY WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES. 

I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs 
By the known rules of ancient liberty. 
When straight a barbarous noise environa 
me 
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and 

dogs: 
As when those hinds that were transformed 
to frogs 
Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny. 
Which after held the sun and moon in 
fee. 
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs, 
That bawl for freedom in their senseless 
mood, 
And still revolt when truth would set them 

free. 
License they mean when they cry Liberty; 
For who loves that must first be wise and 
good; 
But from that mark how far they rove we 
see, 
For all this waste of wealth, and loss of 
blood. 



TO CTRIAO SKINNER. 

Ctriac, this three years day these eyes, tho' 
clear 
To outward view of blemish or of spot, 
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ; 
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear 
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the 
year. 
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not 
Against heaven's hand or will, nor bate a 

jot 
Of heart or hope ; but still bear up and 
steer 
Eight onward. What supports me, dost thou 
ask? 
The conscience, friend, t' have lost them 

overplied 
In liberty's defence, my noble task, 
Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 
This thought might lead me through the 

world's vain mask, 
Content thougli blind, had I no better guide. 
John Milton, 



THE COVENANTEES' BATTLE-CHANT, 



361 



WHEN" ban^nTees are waving. 



WnKN banners are -u'aving, 

And lances a- pushing ; 
When captains are shouting, 

And war-horses rushing ; 
When cannon are roaring, 

And hot bullets flying, 
He that -would honor win, 

Must not fear dying. 

II. 
Though shafts fly so thick 

That it seems to be snowing ; 
Though streamlets with blood 

More than water are flowing ; 
Though with sabre and bullet 

Our bravest are dying, 
We speak of revenge, but 

We ne'er speak of flying. 



Come, stand to it, heroes ! 

The heathen are coming; 
Ilorsen^en are round the walls, 

Riding and running ; 
Maidens and matrons all 

Arm ! arm ! are crying , 
From petards the wildfire 's 

Flashing and flying. 



The trumpets from turrets high 

Loudly are braying ; 
The steeds for the onset 

Are snorting and neighing ; 
As waves in the ocean. 

The dark plumes are dancino- • 
As stars in the blue sky. 

The helmets are glancing. 

Their ladders are planting. 

Their sabres are sweeping ; 
l^ow swords from our sheaths 

By the thousand are leaping ; 
Like the flash of the levin 

Ere men hearken thunder. 
Swords gleam, and the steel caps 

Are cloven asunder. 
50 



The shouting has ceased, 

And the flashing of cannon ! 
I looked from the turret 

For crescent and pennon : 
As flax touched by fire, 

As hail in the river, 
They were smote, they were fallen. 

And had melted for ever. 

Anoktmous, 



THE COVENANTERS' BATTLE-CHANT. 

To battle ! to battle ! 

To slaughter and strife ! 
For a sad, broken covenant 

We barter poor life. 
The great God of Judah 

Shall smite with our hand, 
And break down the idols 

Tliat cumber the land. 

TJi)lift every voice 

In prayer, and in song ; 
Remember the battle 

Is not to the strong ; — 
Lo, the Ammonites thicken! 

And onward they come, 
To the vain noise of trumpet, 

Of cymbal, and drum. 

They haste to the onslaught, 

With hagbut and spear; 
They lust for a banquet 

That 's deathful and dear. 
Now horseman and footman 

Sweep down the hill-side ; 
They come, like fierce Pharaohs, 

To die in their pride ! 

See, long plume aiid pennon 
Stream gay in the air ! 

They are given us for slaughter, - 
Shall God's people spare ? 

Nay, nay ; lop them off- 
Friend, father, and son ; 

All earth is athirst till 
The good work be done. 



362 POEMS or AMBITION. 


Brace tight every buckler, 


And far up in heaven, near the white sunny 


And lift high the sword ! 


cloud, 


For biting must blades be 


The song of the lark was melodious and 


• That fight for the Lord. 


loud; 


Keraember, remember, 


And in Glenmuir's wild solitude, lengthened 


How saints' blood was shed, 


and deep. 


As free as the rain, and 


Were the whistling of plovers and bleating 


Homes desolate made ! 


of sheep. 


Among them ! — among them ! 


And Wellwood's sweet valley breathed music 


Unburied bones cry : 


and gladness — 


Avenge us, — or, like us, 


The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty 


Faith's true martyrs die ! 


and redness ; 


Hew, hew down the spoilers ! 


Its daughters were happy to hail the return- 


Slay on, and spare none ; 


ing, 


Then shout forth in gladness, 


And drink the delight of July's sweet morn- 


Heaven's battle is won ! 


ing. 


WlILLAM MOTHEEWELL. 






But, oh! there were hearts cherished far other 


4 


feelings. 




Illunied by the light of prophetic reveal- 

ings; 
Who drank from the scenery of beauty but 


THE oa:meeonian's dream. 




sorrow. 


In a dream of the night I was wafted away 
To the muirland of mist, where the martyrs 


For they knew that their blood would bedew 
it to-morrow. 


lay; 




Where Cameron's sword and his bible are 


' Twas the few faithful ones who with Cam- 


seen, 


eron were lying 


Engraved on the stone where the heather 


Concealed 'mong the mist Avhere the heath- 


grows green. 


fowl was crying ; 




For the horsemen of Earlshall around them 


' Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and 
blood 


were hovering. 
And their bridle reins rung through the thin 


When the minister's home was the mountain 


misty covering. 


and wood ; 




When in Wellwood's dark valley the stand- 


Their faces grew pale, and their swords wei*e 


ard of Zion, 


unsheathed. 


All bloody and torn, 'mong the heather was 


But the vengeance that darkened their brow 


lying. 


was unbreathed ; 




With eyes turned to heaven in calm resigna- 


Twas morning; and summer's young sun 
from the east 


tion. 
They sang their last song to the God of sal- 


Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's 


vation. 


breast ; 




On Wardlaw and Cairntable the clear shin- 


The hills with the deep mournful music were 


ing dew 


ringing. 


Glistened there 'mong the heath bells and 


The curlew and plover in concert were sing- 


mountain flowers blue. 


ing ; 



THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE. 



But the melody died 'mid derision aud laugh- 
ter, 

As the host of uugodly rushed on to the 
slaughter. 

Tliough in mist, aud in darkness, and firo 

• they were shrouded, 
Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and 

unclouded ; 
Their dark eyes flashed lightning, as, firm 

and unbending, 
They stood like the rock which the thunder 

is rending. 

The muskets were flashing, the blue swords 

were gleaming, 
The helmets were cleft, and the red blood 

was streaming, 
The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was 

rolling, 
Wlien in Well wood's dark muu-lands the 

mighty were falling. 

When the righteous had "fallen, and the com- 
bat was ended, 

A chariot of fire through the dark cloud de- 
scended ; 

Its drivers were angels on horses of white- 
ness. 

And its burning wheels tm-ned upon axles of 
brightness. 

A seraph unfolded its doors briglit and shin- 
ing, 

All dazzlmg like gold of the seventh refin- 

, , ius, 

And the souls that came forth out of great 
tribulation. 

Have mounted the chariots and steeds of 
salvation. 



363 



On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is 
gliding. 

Through the path of the thunder the horse- 
men are riding — 

Glide swiftly, bright spii-its ! the prize is be- 
fore ye — 

A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory! 

James Hyslop. 



THE BOJ^NETS OF BOI^NIE DUNDEE. 

To the lords of convention 't was Claverhouse 

who spoke, 
"Ere the king's crown shall fall there are 

crowns to be broke ; 

So let each cavalier who loves honor and me 

Come follow the bonnets of bonnie Dundee ! " 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; 

Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 
free, 

And it'sroomforthelonnets oflonnie 
Dundee! 

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street. 
The bells are rung backward, the drums they 

are beat ; 
But the provost, douce man, said, "Just e'en 

let him be. 
The gude toun is well qivi of that deil ot 
Dundee ! " 
Come Jill up my c up, come fill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 
onen ; 

Come open the Westport and let us gang 

free, 
And it 's room for the lonnets of lonnie 
Dundee ! 

As he rode doim the sanctified bends of the 

Bow 
Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow ; 
But the young plants of grace they looked 

oowthie aud slee, 
Thinking, Luck to thy bonnet, thou bonnie 
Dundee! 
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up yo ur 

men; 
Come open the Westjmrt and let us gang 

free, 
And it 's room for the lonnets of lonnie 
Dundee! 



With soui--foatured whigs the grass-market 

was thranged 
As if half the west had set tryst to be hanged ; 



86i 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



There was spite iu each look, there was fear 

ia each ee, 
As they watched for the bonnets of bonuie 
Dundee. 
Gome fill up my cup^ come fill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses^ and callupyour 

men; 
Come open tlie Westport and let us gang 

free, 
And it 'a room for the lonnets of lonnie 
Dundee ! 



These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had 

spears. 
And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers ; 
But they shrunk to close-heads, and the cause- 
way was free 
At the toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come op)en the Westport and let us gang 

free, 
And it 's 7'oojn for the bonnets of ionnie 
Dundee/ 



He spurred to the foot of the proud castle 

rock, 
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke : 
" Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa 

words or three, 
For the love of the bonnet of bonnie 
Dundee." 
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

free. 
And ifs room for the lonnets of loniiie 
Dundee ! 



The Gordon demands of him which way he 
goes — 

" "Wliere'er shall direct me the shade of Mont- 
rose ! 

Your grace in short space shall hear tidings 
of me, 

Or that low lies the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 



Come fill up my cup>, come fill up my can; 
Come saddle your horses, and callup your 

men ; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

free. 
And it 's roo?7i for the Ijonnets of 'bonnie 

Dundee ! 

" There are hills beyond Pentland and lands 

beyond Forth ; 
If there 's lords in the Lowlands, there 's chieffi 

in the north ; 
There are wild Duniewassals three thousand 

times three 
Will cry ' Iloigh ! ' for the bonnet of bonnie 
Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

free, 
And it 's room for the lonnets of lonnie 
Dundee ! 

" There 's brass on the target of barkened 

bull-hide. 
There 's steel in the scabbard that dangles be- 
side; 
The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall 

flash free. 
At a toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 
Come fill lip my cup, come fill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the Westpiort and let us gang 

free, 
And ifs room for the lonnets of lonnie 
Dundee ! 

" Away to the hills, to the caves, to tJie rocks , 
Ere I own an usurper I '11 couch with tlie fox ; 
And tremble, false whigs, in the midst of 

your glee, 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and 
me." 
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up> your 

men ; 
Come opien the Westport and let us gang 

free. 
And it 's room for the lonnets of lonnie 
Dundee ! 



HERE 'S TO THE KING, SIR! 



365 



He waved liis proud hand, and the trumpets 

were blown, 
The kotj^-drums dashed, aud the horsemen 

/i-ode on, 
Till/on Eavclston's chffs and on Clermiston's 

lea 
Died away the wild war-notes of bonnie Dun- 
dee. 
Gome fill tip my cup^ come fill up my can ; 
Come saddle the horses^ and call iq? the 

men; 
Come ope7i your dooi's and let me ffaefiree, 
.For it 's tip icitli the l^onnets of lonnie 
Dundee! 

SiK Walter Scott. 



LOOHABER NO MORE. 

Faeewell tc Loehaber! and farewell, my 

Jean, 
Where heartsome with thee I hae niony day 

been! 
For Loehaber no more, Loehaber no more. 
We '11 maybe retm-n to Loehaber no more ! 
These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear. 
And no for the dangers attending on war. 
Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody 

shore, 
Maybe to return to Loehaber no more. 

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind, 
They "11 ne'er make a tempest like that in my 

mind; 
Though loudest of thunder on louder waves 

roar. 
That 's naething hke leaving my love on the 

shore. 
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair 

pained ; 
By eatic that's mglorious no fame can be 

gained ; 
And beauty aud love 's the reward of the 

brave, 
And I must dcser\'e it before I can crave. 

Tiion glory, my Jcany, maun plead my ex- 
cuse ; 
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse ? 
Witliout it I ne'er can have merit for thee, 
Aud without thy favor I 'd better not be. 



I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame, 

And if I should luck to come gloriously hame, 

I '11 bring a heart to thee with love runnmg 

o'er, 

And then I '11 leave thee and Loehaber no 

more. 

Allan Eam3at. 



HERE'S TO THE KING, SIR I 

Here 's to the king, sir ! 
Ye ken wha I mean, sir — 
And to every honest man 
That will do 't again ! 

Flll^fill your lumpers liigli ; 
Drain, drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon Mm l^fie ! oh, fie ! — 
That icinna do H again. 

Here 's to the chieftains 
Of the gallant Highland clans.! 
They hae done it mair nor ance, 
And will do 't again. 

Fill, fill your ltimp)ers high ; 
Drain, drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon Mm!— fie! oli^fie! — 
Tliat loinna do H again, 

When you hear the trumpet's sound 
Tuttie taittie to the drums, 
Up wi' swords and down wi' guns, 
And to the loons again ! 

Fill, fill your lumpers high; 
Drain, drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon liim!^fie! oli,fie! — 
Tliat winna do H again. 

Here' s to the king o' Swede ! 
Fresh laurels crown his head ! 
Shame fa' every sneaking blade 
That winna do 't again ! 

Fill, fill your lumpers high ; 
Drain, drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon liim !—fi6 ! oh, fie !— 
Tliat icinna do H again. 

But to make a' things right now, 
He that drinks maun fight too. 
To show his heai-t 's upright too. 
And that he '11 do 't again ! 



S6b POEMS OF 


AMBITION, 


FUl^fill your 'bumpers high; 




Drain, drain your glasses dry ; 


THE GALLANT GRAHAMS. 


Out upon him !—Jie! oh, Jie! — 




That loinna do H again. 


To wear the blue 1; think it best, 


AilONTMOUS. 


Of a' the colors tliat I see ; 




And I 'U wear it for the gallant Grahams 
That aj"e banished frae their ain countrie. 




CHAELIE IS MY DAELING. 




'T WAS on a Monday morning 


I '11 crown thein east, I '11 crown them west, 


Eicht eai-ly in the year, 


The bravest lads that e'er I saw ; 


That Charlie cam' to our toim, 


They bore the gree in free fighting, 


The young chevaher. 


And ne'er were slack their swords to draw. 


And Charlie he 's my darling, 




My darling, my darling ; 




Charlie he 's my darling. 


They wan the day wi' Wallace wight ; 


The young chevalier ! 


They were tlie lords o' the south countrie ; 


Cheer up your hearts, brave cavahers, 


As he was walking up the street, 


Till the gallant Grahams come o'er the 


The city for to view, 


sea. 


Oh, there he spied a bonnie lass 




The window looking througli. 




And Charlie he 's my darling, 


At the Gouk head, where their camp waa 


My darling, my darling ; 


set, 


Charlie he 's my darling, 


They rade the white horse and the gray. 


The y oung chevalier ! 


A' glancing in tlieir plated armor. 




As the gowd shines in a summer's day. 


Say licht's he jumped up the stair. 




And tirled at the piu ; 




And wha sae ready as hersel' 


But woe to Hacket, and Strachan baith. 


To let the laddie in? 


And ever an ill death may they die, 


And Charlie he 's my darling. 


For they betrayed the gallant Grahams, 


My darling, my darling ; 


That aye were true to majesty. 


Charlie he 's my darling, 




The young chevalier! 


l^ow fare ye weel, sweet Ennerdale, 


He set his Jenny on his Icnee, 


Baith kith and kin that I could name ; 


All in his Highland dress ; 


Oh, I would sell my silken snood 


For brawly weel he kenned the way 


To see the gallant Grahams come hame. 


To please a bonnie lass. 


Ai;0K\M0U8. 


And Charlie he 's my darling, 






My darling, my darling ; 




Charlie he 's my darling. 


KENMDEE 'S ON AND AWA. 


The young chevalier ! 






On, Eenmure 's on and awa, Willie I 
Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa ! 


It 's up yon heathery mountain. 


And down yon scroggy glen, 


And Kenmure's lord 's the bravest lord 


We daurna gans; a-milkinar, 




For Charlie and his men. 


That ever GalloAvay saw. 


And Charlie he 's my darling, 




My darling, my darling ; 


Success to Kenmure's band, WiUie ! 


Charlie he 's my darling, 


Success to Kenmure's band ; 


The young chevalier ! 


There 's no a heart that fears a Whig 


Anonymoxtb. 


That rides by Kenmure's hand. 



LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 



367 



Here 's Keiimui;e's health in wine, Willie ! 

Here 's Kenmure's health ia wioe ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's 
blude, 

Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

Oh, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

Oh, Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fome, WiUie! 

They '11 live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon, wi' sounding Victoria, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame. 

Here 's him that 's far awa, Willie ! 

Here 's him that 's far awa ; 
And here 's the flower that I love best — 

The rose that's like the snaw. 

KOBEEX BtJESS. 



HEEE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S 
AWA. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 

May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
It 's guid to be merry and wise, 

It 's guid to be honest and true, 
It 's guid to support Caledonia's cause, 

And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa. 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
Here 's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the 
clan, 

Altho' that his band be sma'. 
May liberty meet wi' success ! 

May prudence protect her fra evil ! 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa. 
And here 's to them that 's awa ; 

Here 's a health to Tammie, the Norland lad- 
die, 
That lives at the lug o' the law ! 



Here 's freedom to him that wad read, 
Here's freedom to him that wad write! 

There 's nane ever feared that the truth should 
be heard 
But they wham the truth wad indite. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa. 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
Here 's Maitland and Wycombe, and wha 
does na like 'em 

We '11 build in a hole o' tlie wa'. 
Here's timmer that's red at the heart, 

Here 's fruit that 's sound at the core ! 
May he that would turn the buff and blue coat 

Be turned to the back o' the door. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa. 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth 
gowd. 

Though bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 
Here 's friends on baith sides o' the Fortli, 

And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed ; 
And wha would betray old Albion's riglits. 

May they never eat of her bread ! 

KOBEET BdRKS. 



LOCHIEL'S WAENING. 
Wizard — Loohiel. 



LooHiEL, Lochiel ! beware of the day 

When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle 

array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight. 
And the clans of CuUoden are scattered in 

fight. 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and 

crown ; 
Woe, woe to tlie riders that trample them 

down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the 

slain. 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the 

plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning 

of war 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 



368 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



'T is thine, oli Gleuulliu ! wliose bride sliall 

await, 
Like a love-liglited watcli-fire, all night at the 

gate. 
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there ^ 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led — 
Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the 

dead ; 
For a merciless sword on Ciillodeu shall wave, 
Culloden that reeks with the blood of the 

brave. 



Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling 

seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 



Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to 

scorn ? 
Proud bh-d of the mountain, thy plume shall 

be torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth 
From his home in the dark rolling clouds of 

the north ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he 

rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on 

high! 
Ah ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is 

nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? "Why shoot to 

the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament 

cast? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully 

driven 
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of 

heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' 

height. 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to 

burn ; 
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return! 



For the blackness of ashes shall mai-k where 

it stood. 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing 

brood. 

LOOHIEL. 

False wizard, avamit! I have marshalled my 

clan; 
Their swords are a thousand, tlieir bosoms are 

one! 
They are true to the last of their- blood and 

their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of 

death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the 

shock! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on 

the rock ! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause. 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory 

crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the 

proud. 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan aiTay — 



Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ; 

For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 

But man cannot cover what God would re- 
veal ; 

'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore. 

And coming events cast then- shadows before. 

I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 

With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugi- 
tive king. 

Lo ! anointed by heaven with the vials of 
wrath, 

Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! 

Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from 
my sight : 

Else, rise! ye wUd tempests, and cover his 
flight ! 

'T is finished, llieir thunders are hushed on 
the moors ; 

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? 
where ? 

For tlie red eye of battle is shut in despair. 



PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU. 



3G9 



Say, mounts lie tlie ocean-wave, banished, 

forlorn, 
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding 

and torn ? 
.Ml no ! for a darker departure is near; 
Tlie war-drum is muffled and black is the bier; 
His death-bell is tolling. Oh ! mercy, dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 
And his blood-strcaraing nostril in agony 

swims. 
Accurse<l be the fagots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases 

to beat, 
"With the smoke of its ashes to poison the 

gale 

LOOniEL. 

Down, sootless insulter ! I trust not the 

tale! 
For never shall Albiu a destiny meet 
So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. 
Tiiougli my perishing ranks should be strewed 

in their gore. 
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten 

shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom re- 
mains, 
Sliall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the 

foe! 
And, lea\ang in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to Jieaven from the death-bed 
of fame 

Thomas Campbell. 



BORDER BALLAD. 

March, inarch, Ettrick and Tro%'iotdale ! 
Y\'hy the de'il dinna ye march forward in 
order ? 
"March, march, Eskdalo and Liddesdale ! 
All the Blue Bonnets are over the Border ! 
Many a banner spread 
Flutters above your head. 
Many a crest that is famous in story !— 
Mount and make ready, then. 
Sons of the mountain glen, 
Figlit for the queen and our old Scottish 
glory! 

53 



Oorae from the hills where your hirsels are 
grazing; 
Come from the glen of tlie buck and the 
roe ; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing ; 
Come with the buckler, the lance, and the 
bow. 

Trumpets are sounding ; 
War-steeds are bounding ; 
Stand to your arms, and march in good order, 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray, 
When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU. 

PiBEOcii of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew 

Summon Clan-Conuil ! 
Come away, come away — 

Hark to the summons ! 
Come in your war array, 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep glen, anfl 

From mountain so rocky ; 
The wai'-pipe and pennon 

Are at Inverlochy. 
Come every hill-plaid, and 

True heart that wears one ; 
Come every steel blade, and 

Strong hand that bears one. 

Leave untended the herd. 

The flock without shelter; 
Leave the corpse uninterred, 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come when 

Forests are rended ; 
Come as the waves come when 

Navies are stranded! 



370 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Faster come, fastei' come, 

Faster and faster — 
Chief, vassal, page, and groom, 

Tenant and master ! 

Fast they come, fast they como — 

See how they gather! 
Wide waves the eagle plume, 

lilended with heather. 
Cast yom* plaids, draw yom- blades, 

Forward each man set ! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Kneel for the onset ! 

Sir Walter Scott. 



WAE 'S ME FOR PPJNCE CHAELIE. 

A WEE bird came to our ha' door; 

He warbled sweet and clearly ; 
And aye the o'ercomc o' his sang 

Was " Wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! " 
Oh! when I heard the bonny, bonny bird. 

The tears came d rapping rarely ; 
I took my bonnet aff my head, 

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie. 

Quoth I : " My bird, my bounie, bonnie bird, 

Is that a tale ye borrow ? 
Or is 't some words ye 've learned by rote. 

Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow ? " 
" Oh ! no, no, no ! " the wee bird sang, 

" I 've flown sin' morning early ; 
But sic a day o' wind and rain ! — 

Oh ! wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! 

On hills that are by right his ain 

He roams a lonely stranger ; 
On ilka hand he 's pressed by want. 

On ilka side by danger. 
Yestreen I met him in tlie glen. 

My heart near bursted foirly; 
For sadly changed indeed was he — 

Oh ! wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! 

Dark night came on; the tempest howled 

Out owre the hills and valleys ; 
And whare was 't that your prince lay down, 

Whase hame should be a palace? 
He rowed him in a Highland plaid, 

Which covered him but sparely. 
And slept beneath a bush o' broom — 

Oh ! wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! " 



But now the bird saw some red coats, 

And he shook his wings wi' anger : 
" Oh ! this is noa land for me — 

I '11 tarry here nae Linger." 
A while he hovered on the v/ing. 

Ere he departed foirly; 
But weel I mind the farewell strain, 

'T was " Wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! " 
William Glen. 



HAME, HAME, HAME! 

Hame, hame, hame ! oh hame I fain would be ! 

Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! 

When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is 
on the tree. 

The lark shall sing me hame to my ain coun- 
trie. 

Hame^ hamc\ hame I oh hame I fain icould he ! 

Oh hame^ hame^ hamc^ to my ain countrie! 

The green leaf o' loyaltie 's beginning now to 

fa'; 
The bonnie white rose, it is withering an' a' ; 
But we '11 water it wi' the bluid of usurping 

tyrannie. 
And fresh it shall blaw in my ain countrie ! 
Ilame^ hame, hame ! oh hame I fain would Tje I 
Oh Jiame^ hame^ hame, to my ain countrie! 

Oh there 's nocht now frae ruin my couutrie 
can save, 

But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave. 

That a' the noble martyrs who died for loy- 
altie 

May rise again and fight for their ain couatrie. 

Hame, hame, hame ! oh hame I fain would lie! 

Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! 

The great now are gone wha attempted to 
save, 

The green grass is growing abmie their 
grave ; 

Yet the sun tlirough the mist seems to prom- 
ise to me, 

"I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie." 

Hame, hame, hame ! oh hame J fain icould Ite ! 

Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! 
Allak Cunningham. 



THE BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND. 



371 



MY Am COUNTEEE. 

The sua rises bright in France, 

And Mr sets be ; 
But be has tint the blytbe blink lie bad 

In my ain couutree. 
Ob gladness comes to many, 

But sorrow comes to me, 
As I look o'er tbe wide ocean 

To my ain countrce. 

Ob it's nae my ain ruin 

Tbat saddens aye my e'e. 
But tbe love I left in Galloway, 

Wi' bonnie bairnies tbree. 
My bamely bearth burnt bonnie, 

An' smiled my fair Marie : 
I 've left my beart bebind me 

In my ain countrce. 

Tbe bud comes back to summer. 

And tbe blossom to tbe bee ; 
But I '11 win back — ob never. 

To my ain countrce. 
I 'm leal to tbe bigh beaven, 

Wbicb will be leal to me. 
An tbere I '11 meet ye a' sune 

Frae my ain countree. 

Allan CtiNNiNonAM. 



THE BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Now there's peace on tbe shore, now tbere 's 

calm on the sea, 
Fill a glass to the heroes wbose swords kept 

us free, 
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and 
Dundee. 
(?7t, the broadswords of old Scotland! 
And o?i, the old Scottish broadswords ! 

Old Sir Ralph Abercrombj', the good and the 

brave — 
Let him lice from our board, let him sleep 

Avitb the slave. 
Whose libation comes slow while we honor 
his grave. 
0\ the broadswords of old Scotland ! 
And ohy the old Scottish iroadsicords / 



Though he died not, like bim, amid victory's 

roar. 
Though disaster and gloom wove bis shroud 

on the shore, 
Not the less we remember the spirit of Moore. 
Oil, the broadswords of old Scotland ! 
And oh, the old Scottish broadsioords ! 

Yea, a place with the fallen the living shall 

claim ; 
We '11 entwine in one wreath every glorious 

name, 
The Gordon, the Ramsay, the Hope, and the 
Graham, 
All the broadswords of old Scotland/ 
And oh, the old Scottish broadsioords !' 

Count the rocks of the Spey, count the groves 

of the Forth, 
Count the stars in the clear, cloudless heaven 

of the north; 
Tiien go blazon their numbers, their names, 
and tbcir worth, 
All the broadsicords of old Scotland! 
And oh, the old Scottish broadsioords ! 

The bigbest in splendor, the humblest in 

place. 
Stand united in glory, as kindred in race. 
For the private is brother in blood to bis Grace. 

Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland ! 

And oh, the old Scottish broadsioords ! 

Then sacred to caeb and to all let it be, 

Fill a glass to the heroes wbose swords kept 

us free. 
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and 
Dundee. 
Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland! 
And oh, the old Scottish broadswords! 
John Gibson Lockhart. 



SONG. 



As by the shore, at break of day, 
A vanquished chief expiring lay, 
Upon the sands, with broken sword, 

He traced bis tarewell to tbe free ; 
And, there, tbe last unfinished word 

He dying wrote, was " Liberty! " 



— I 



37i 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



At uigLt a sea-bird slirieked the kiiell 
Of him who thus for freedom fell; 
The words he wrote, ere evening came, 

Were covered by the sounding sea ; — 
So pass away the cause and name 

Of him who dies for liberty ! 

TnosiAS MooKK. 



THE HARP THAT ONCE THEOUGH 
TARA'S HALLS. 

The harp that once through Tara's halls 

The soul of music shed, 
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 

As if that soul were fled. 
So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory's thrill is o'er. 
And hearts that once beat high for praise, 

Now feel that pulse no more. 

No more to chiefs and ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells ; 
The chord alone that breaks at night 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, 

The only throb she gives 
Is -when some heart indignant breaks 

To show that still she lives. 

Thomas Mooke. 



ODE. 



How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes blessed ! 
"When spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
Tliere honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 
And fi-eedom shall awhile repair, 
To dwell a weepmg hermit there! 

William Collins. 



PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS. 

Peace to the slumberers ! 

They lie on the battle-plain, 
With no shroud to cover them ; 

The dew and the summer rain 
And aU that sweep over them. 

Peace to the slumberers ! 

Vain was their bravery ! 

The fallen oak lies where it lay 
Across the wintry river ; 

But brave hearts, once swept away, 
Are gone, alas ! forever. 

Vain was their bravery! 

Woe to the conqueror ! 

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his SAVord bereft ns, 

Ere we forget the deep arrears 
Of vengeance they have left us ! 

Woe to the conqueror ! 

Thomas Mooek, 



SHAN VAN VOCHT. 

Oh ! the French are on the say, 

Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 
The French are on the say. 

Says the Shan Van Vocht ! 

Oh ! the French arc in the bay ; 

They'll be here without delay, 

And the Orange will decay, 

Says the Shan Van Vocht. 

Oil ! the Frencli are in the 'bay^ 
They'll le here ly IreaTc of day, 
And the Orange will decay, 
Says the Shan Van Vocht. 

And where will they have their camp 
Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 

Where will they have their camp ? 
Says the Shan Van Vocht, 

On the Currach of Kildare ; 

The boys they will be there 

With their pikes in good repair, 
Says the Shan Van Vocht. 



GOD SAVE KING. 



To the Currach of Kildare 
The loys they will repair, 
And Lord Edicard will be there, 
Sa)/s the Shan Van Vocht. 



Then what will the yeomen do? 

Says the Shan A^an Vocht ; 
'What will the yeomen do ? 

Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 
What should the yeomen do, 
But throw off the red and blue, 
And swear that they '11 be true 
To the Shan Van Vocht. 
What sJioiild the yeoman do. 
But throw off the Red and Blue, 
And sicear that they HI he true 
To the Shan Van Vocht! 



And what color will they wear? 

Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 
"What color will they wear ? 

Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 
What color should be seen, 
Where our fathers' homes have been, 
But our own immortal green ? 
Says the Shan Van Vocht. 
What color should lie seen. 
Where our fathers' homes have heen, 
But our own immortal green ? 
Says the Shan Van Vocht. 



And will Ireland then be free ? 

Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 
Will Ireland then be free? 

Says the Shan Van Vocht ! 
Yes! Ireland shall be free, 
From the centre to the sea ; 
Tlien hurra ! for liberty ! 
Says the Shan Van Vocht. 
Yes ! Ireland shall he free, 
From the centre to the sea ; 
Then hurra ! for liberty ! 
Says the Shan Van Vocht. 

Anonymous. 



GOD SAVE THE KING. 

God save our gracious king! 
Long live our noble king! 

God save the king ! 
Send him victorious, 
Happy and glorious. 
Long to reign over us — 

God save the king ! 

O Lord our God, arise ! 
Scatter his enemies. 

And make them fall , 
Confound their politics, 
Frustrate their knavish tricks; 
On him our hopes we fix, 

God save us all ! 

Thy choicest gifts in store 
On him be pleased to pour ; 

Long may he reign. 
May he defend our laws. 
And ever give us cause, 
To sing with heart and voice — 

God save tlie king ! 

Anonymous. 



HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD 
NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. 

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris and he : 

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all 
three ; 

"Good speed! " cried the watch as the gate- 
bolts undrew, 

"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping 
through. 

Behind shut the posterii, the lights sank tc 
rest, 

And into tlie midnight we galloped abreast. 

Not a word to each other; we kept the great 
pace — 

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never chang- 
ing our place ; 



{74 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight. 
Then shortened each stirrup and, set the 

pique riglit, 
Rehuckled the check-strap, chained slacker 

the bit, 
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 

'Twas a moonset at starting; hut while we 

drew near 
Lokeren, the cocks crew and tAvilight dawned 

clear ; 
At Boom a great yellow star came out to see ; 
At Dliffeld 't was morning as plain as could be ; 
And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard 

the half-chime — 
So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is 

time ! " 

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
And against him the cattle stood black every 

one, 
To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; 
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, 
With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
The haze, as some bluff river headland its 

spray, 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp 

ear bent back 
For my voice, and the other pricked out on 

his track ; 
And one eye's black iutelligeuce, — ever that 

glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, 

askance ; 
And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye 

and anon 
His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. 

By Ilasselt Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, 

" Stay spur! 
Your Eoos galloped bravelj^, the fault 's not 

in her ; 
We '11 remember at Aix " — for one heard the 

quick wheeze 
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and 

staggering knees, 
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of tlie 

flank, 
As down on her haunches she shuddered and 

sank. 



So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the 
sky; 

The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ; 

'JSTeath our feet broke the brittle, bright stub- 
ble like chatf ; 

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang 
white. 

And " Gallop " gasped Joris, " for Ais is in 
sight ! " 

" How they '11 greet us I " — and all in a mo- 
ment his roan 

Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a 
stone ; 

And there was my Roland to bear the whole 
weight 

Of the news "^^'hich alone could save Aix from 
her fate. 

With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the 
brim. 

And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' 
rim. 

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster 

let fall. 
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and 

all, 
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his 

eai', 
Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse 

without peer — 
Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any 

noise, bad or good. 
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and 

stood. 



And all I remember is friends flocking round. 

As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on 
the ground ; 

And no voice but was ^jraising this Roland 
of mine. 

As I poured down his throat our last meas- 
ure of wine, 

Which (the burgesses voted by common con- 
sent) 

Was no more than his due who brought good 
news from Ghent. 

EOBEET BeOWNING. 



INDIAN DEATH-SONG. 



375 



INDIAN DEATH-SONG. 

TnK sun sets in niglit, and tlie stars shim the 
day; 

But glory remains wlicn their lights fade 
away. 

Begin, you tormentors ! your threats are in 
vain, 

For the sons of Alknomook will never com- 
plain. 

Remember the arrows he shot from his how ; 

Kemember your chiefs by his hatchet laid 
low! 

WJiy so slow ? do you wait till I shrink from 
the pain ? 

No ! tlie son of Alknomook shall never com- 
plain. 

Remember the wood where in ambush we 
lay, 

And the scalps which Ave bore from your 
nation away. 

Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my 
pain; 

But the son of Alknomook can never com- 
plain. 

I go to tlie land where my father is gone ; 
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son. 
Death comes, like a friend, to relieve me from 

pain ; 
And thy son, O Alknomook! has scorned to 

complain. 

Anne Hunter. 



INDIAN DEATH-SONG. 

On the mat he 's sitting there — 

See ! he sits upright — 
With the same look that he ware 

AYhon he saw the light. 

But where now the hand's clenched 
weight ? 

"Where the breath he drew, 
That to the Great Spirit late 

Forth the pipe-smoke blew ? 



"Where the eyes that, falcon-keen. 

Marked the reindeer pass, 
By the dew upon the green, 

By the waving grass ? 

These the limbs that, unconfined, 
Bounded through the snow. 

Like the stag that's twenty-tyned, 
Like the mountain roe ! 

These the arms that, stout and tense, 
Did the bow-string twang ! 

See, the life is parted hence! 
See, how loose they hang ! 

"Well for him ! he 's gone his ways, 
"Where are no more snows ; 

"Where the fields are decked with maize 
That unplanted grows ; — 

Where with beasts of chase each wood. 
Where with birds each tree. 

Where with fish is every flood 
Stocked fuU pleasantly. 

He above with spirits feeds ; — 

We, alone and dim. 
Left to celebrate his deeds. 

And to bury him. 

Bring the last sad offerings hither ; 

Chant the death-lament ; 
All inter, with him together. 

That can him content. 

' Neath his head the hatchet hide 

That he swung so strong ; 
And the bear's ham set beside, 

For the way is long ; 

Then the knife — sharp let it be — 
That from foeman's crown, 

Quick, with dexterous cuts but three, 
Skin and tuft brought down ; 

Paints, to smear his frame about. 

Set within his hand, 
That he redly may shine out 

In the spirits' land. 

Frederick Sf.inLLEK. (German.) 
Translation of N. L. FROTniNGHAM. 



3V6 



rOEMS OF AMBITIOA. 



THE LANDING OF THE PILGEIM 
FATHERS IN NEW-ENGLAND. 

'■ Look now abroad — another race has filled 
Those populous borders — wide the wood recedes, 
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled ; 
The land is full of harvests and green, meads." 

■/■ C {~t ' ^ '■ Bktant. 



The breaking waves dasKfed liigh, 
On a stern and rock-bound coast, 

And tbe woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed ; 

And the heavy night liiing dark, 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New-England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

Tliey, the true-hearted, came ; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame; 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear; — 
rhey shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang, 
Aad the stars heard, and the sea; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods 
rang 
To the anthem of the fi-ee. 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam ; 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared — 

This was tlieir welcome home. 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim band : 
Wliy had they come to wither there. 

Away from their childhood's land ? 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's br^w serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 



What sought they thus afar ? 

Bright jev.'cls of the mine? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? — 

They sought a faitli's pure shrine ! 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod ; — 
They have left unstained what there thej 
found — 
Freedom to worship God. 

Felicia Hemass. 



ON THE PEOSPECT OF PLANTING 
ARTS AND LEARNING IN 

AMERICA. 

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clhne 
Barren of every glorious theme, 

In distant lands now waits a better time. 
Producing subjects worthy fame ; 

In happy climes, where from the genial sun 
And virgin earth such scenes ensue, 

The force of art by nature seems outdone. 
And fancied beauties by the true ; 

In happy climes the seat of innocence. 

Where nature guides and virtue rules. 
Where men shall not impose for truth and 

sense, 
The pedantry of courts and schools. 

There shall be sung another golden age, 

The rise of empire and of arts. 
The good and great uprising epic rage. 

The wisest heads and noblest hearts. 

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay; 

Such as she bred when fresh and young, 
When heavenly flame did animate her clay, 

By future poets shall be sung. 

Westward the course of empire take its way; 

The four first acts already past, 
A fifth shall close the drama with the day ; 

Time's noblest offspring is the last. 

GeOEGE BEKKrLET 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 311 

— . _ 1 




And his broad sword was swinging, 


oakme:^ bellioosum. 


And his brazen throat was ringing 


Ix their raggQd regimentals 
Stood the old Continentals, 

Yielding not, 
When the grenadiers were lunging. 
And like hail fell the plunging 

Cannon-shot ; 

When the files 

Of the isles, 
From the smoky night encampment, bore the 
banner of 'ilie rampant 


Trumpet loud. 
Then the blue 
Bullets flew. 
And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch 
of the leaden 
Eifle-breath ; 


And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the 
iron six-pounder, 
Hurhng death ! 

Gut Humpheey McMastee. 


Unicorn, 




And grummer, gruramer, grummer rolled the 




roll of the drummer, 
Through the morn ! 


SONG OF MAEION'S MEN. 




OuE band is few, but true and tried. 


Then with eyes to the front all, 


Our leader frank and bold ; 


A nd with guns horizontal. 


The British soldier trembles 


Stood our sires ; 


When Marion's name is told. 


Aiid the balls whistled deadly, 


Our fortress is the good greenwood, 


And in streams flashing redly 


Our tent the cypress-tree; 


Blazed the fires ; 


We know the forest round us, 


As the roar 


As seamen know the sea; 


On the shore. 


We know its walls of thorny vines, 


Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the 


Its glades of reedy grass. 


green-sodded acres 


Its safe and silent islands 


Of the plaiu; 


Within the dark morass. 


And louder, louder, louder, cracked the 




black gunpowder, 


Wo to the English soldiery 


Cracking amain ! 


That little dread us near ! 




On them shall light at midnight 


Now like smiths at their forges 


A strange and sudden fear ; 


"Worked the red St. George's 


When, Avaking to their tents on fire, 


Cannoniers ; 


They grasp their arms in vain. 


And the " villainous saltpetre " 


And they who stand to fiice us 


Eung a fierce, discordant metre 


Are beat to earth again ; 


Round their ears ; 


And they who fly in terror, deem 


As the swift 


A mighty host behind. 


Storm-drift, 


And hear the tramp of thousands 


With hot sweeping anger, came the horse- 


Upon the hollow wind. 


guards' clangor 




On our flanks. 


Then sweet the hour that brings release 


Then higlier, higher, higher, burned the old- 


From danger and from toil ; 


fashioned fire 


We talk the battle over. 


Througli the ranks ! 


And share the battle's spoil. 




The woodlands ring with laugh and shout, 


Then the old-flishioned colonel 


As if a hunt were up, 


Galloped through the white infernal 


And woodland flowers are gathered 


Powder-clsMul ; 
52 


To crown the soldier's cup. 



S'TS 



r E M S OF AMBITION. 



"With merry sougs we mock tlae wiud 

That ill the pine-top grieves, 
And shimbcr long and sweetiy 

On l>eds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the foir and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads — 
The glitter of their rifles, 

The scamp'ering of their steeds. 
'T is life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain ; 
'T is hfe to feel the night-wind 

That hfts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp — 

A moment — and away ! 
Back to the pathless forest. 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Sautee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs ; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming, 
^i'ith smiles like those of summer, 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms, 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton, 

For ever, from our shore. 

William Culler- B^.TA^iT. 



TEE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 

On! say, can you see by the dawn's early 
light 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's 
last gleaming — 

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through 
the perilous fight, 

O'er the ramparts we watched, wei'e so gal- 
lantly streaming ! 

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs burst- 
ing in air 

Gave proof through the night that our flag 
was still there; 

Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet 
wave 

O'er the land of the free, and the home of 
the brave ? 



On that shore, dimly seen tlirongh the mista ' 
of the deep, 

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence 
reposes. 

What is that which the breeze, o'er the tow- 
ering steep, 

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now dis- 
closes ? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's 
first beam. 

In full glory reflected, now shines on the 
stream ; 

'T is the star-spangled banner ; oh, long may 
it wave 

O'er the hand of the free, and the home of the 
brave ! 

And where is that band who so vauntiugly 
swore 

That the havoc of war and the battle's con- 
fusion 

A home and a country should leave us no 
more ? 

Their blood has washed out their foul foot- 
steps' pollution. 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave 

From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the 
grave ; 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth 
wave 

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave. 

Oh ! thus be it ever, when freemen shall 
stand 

Between their loved homes and the war's 
desolation ! 

Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven- 
rescued land 

Praise the power that hath made and pre- 
served us a nation. 

Then conquer we must, for our cause it is 
j"st; 

And this be our motto — " In God is our 
trust "— 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph 
shall wave 

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave. 

Fkanois Scott Key. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 



When freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore tlie azure rohe of uiglit, 

And set the stars of glory tliere ; 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure, celestial white 
Witli streakings of the morning light ; 
Thea from his mansion in the sun 
She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
Tlie symbol of her chosen land. 



Mfijostic monarch of the cloud ! 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tcmpest-trum pings loud. 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm. 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — 
Child of the sun ! to thee 't is given 

To guard the banner of the free. 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke. 
And bid its blendings shine afor, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war. 

The harbingers of victory ! 



Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 

Tlie sign of hope and triumph high, 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 

And the long line comes gleaming on ; 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet. 

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 

To where thy sky-born glories burn. 
And, as his springing steps advance. 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And when the cannon-mouthings loud 

Heave in wild wrcatlics the battle-shroud. 
And gory sabres rise and fall, 
LilvC shoots of flame on midnight's pal], 

Then shall thy meteor-glances glow, 
And cowering foes shall sink beneath 

Each gallant arm that strikes below 
That lovely messenger of death. 



Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; 
When death, careering on the gale, 

Svfeeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 

Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 



Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 

By angel hands to valor given; 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome. 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
For ever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet. 

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us i 
Joseph Eodman Drake. 



O MOTHER OF A MIGHTY RACE. 

MOTHER of a mighty race, 
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace ! 
The elder dames, thy haughty peers, 
Admire and hate thy blooming years ; 

With words of shame 
And taunts of scorn they join thy name. 

For on thy cheeks the glow is spread 
That tints thy morning hills with red; 
Thy step — the wild deer's rustling feet 
Within thy woods are not more fleet ; 

Thy hopeful eye 
Is bright as thine own sunny sky. 

Ay, let them rail — those haughty ones, 
While safe thou dwellest with thy sons! 
They do not know how loved thou art. 
How mauy a fond and fearless heart 

Would rise to throw 
Its life between tliee and the foe. 

They know not, in their hate and pride, 
What virtues with thy children bide — 



;j80 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



How true, liow good, thy gfracoful maids 
!^^illvO brii^'ht, like flowers, tlic valley shades; 

What generous men 
Sprinii', like thine oaks, by hill and glen; 

What cordial welcomes greet the guest 
By thy lone rivers of the west ; 
How faith is kept, and truth revered. 
And man is loved, and God is feared, 

In Avoodland homes. 
And where the ocean border foams. 

There 's freedom at thy gatc-s, and i-est 
For earth's down-trodden and opprest, 
A shelter for the hunted head. 
Tor the starved laborer toil and bread. 

Power, at thy bounds. 
Stops, and calls back his baflled hounds. 

fiiir young mother I on thy brow 
Shall sit a nobler grace than now. 
Dee]) in the brightness of thy skies. 
The tlironging years in glory rise, 

And, as they fleet, 
Drop strength and riches at thy feet. 

Thine eye, with every coming hour. 
Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower; 
And when thy sisters, elder born, 
Would brand thy name with words of scorn. 

Before thine eyo 
Upon their lips the taunt shall die. 

William Cullkk Bkyant. 



OUR STATE. 

The sonth-land boasts its teeming cane, 
The prairied west its heavy grain, 
And sunset's radiant gates unfold 
On rising marts and sands of gold! 

Rough, bleak and hard, our little state 
Is scant of soil, of limits strait ; 
Her yellow sands are sands alone, 
Her only mines are ice and stone! 

From antnmn frost to April rain. 
Too long her winter woods complain ; 
From budding flower to falling leaf. 
Her summer time is all too brief. 



Yet, on her rocks, and on her sands, 
And wintry hills, the school-house stands; 
And Avhat her rugged soul denies 
The harvest of the mind supplies. 

The riches of tho commonwealth 
Are free, strong minds, and hearts of health ; 
And more to her than gold or grain 
The cunning hand and cultured brain. 

For well she keeps hei ancient stock, 
The stubborn strength of Pilgrim Rock ; 
And still maintains, with milder laws. 
And clearer light, the good old cause ! 

Nor heeds the scei)tic's puny hands, 
While near her school tho church-spire 

stands; 
Nor fears tho blinded bigot's rule, 
AVhilo near her church-spire stands the 
school. 

John Gekenleap Wuittiek. 



THE BATTLE-FIELD. 

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd. 

And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle-cloud. 

Ah! never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave — 
Gushed, warm with hope and courage jct, 

Upon the soil they fought to save. 

NoAV all is calm, and fresh, and still; 

Alone the chirp of ilitting bird, 
And talk of children on th.e hill. 

And bell of wandering kine are heard. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggering 
wain ; 
!Men start not at the battle-cry — 

Oh, be it never hoard again ! 

Soon rested those who fought ; but thua 
Who minglest in the harder strife 

For truths which men receive not now, 
Thv warfiire onlv ends with life. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 



lis I 



A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Throngh weary day and weary year; 

A wild and niany-weaponed throng 
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, 
And blench not at thy chosen lot ; 

The timid good may stand aloof, 
The sage may frown — yet faint thou not. 

ISTor heed the shaft too surely cast. 
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last. 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again — 
The eternal years of God are hers ; 

But error, wounded, writhes in paiu, 
And dies among his worshippers. 

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, 
"When they who helped thee flee in fear, 

Die full of hope and manly trust, 
Like those who fell in battle here ! 

Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
Another hand the standard wave, 

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 

William Cullen Bkyant. 



MONTEREY. 
We were not many — we who stood 

Before the iron sleet that day ; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if but he could 

Have been with us at Monterey. 

PTow here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
Wlien wounded comrades round them wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on — still on our column kept 

Through walls of flame its withering Avay; 
Wliere fell the dead, the living stept, 
Still charging on the guns which swept 
The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoiled aghast. 

When, striking where he strongest lay, 
We swooped his flanking batteries past, 
And braving full tlieir murderous blast, 
Stormed home the towers of Monterey. 



Our banners on those turrets wave. 

And there' our evening bugles play ; 
Where orange boughs above their grave, 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and fell at Monterey. 

We are not many — we who pressed 

Beside the' brave who fell that day ; 
But who of us has not confessed 
lie 'd rather sliare tlieir warrior rest 
Than not have been at Monterey ? 

CnAELKS Fenno Hoffman, 



BARBARA FRIETCniE. 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September mom, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hiUs of Maryland. 

Round about them orcliards sweep, 
Apple and peach-tree fruited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde ; 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall, — 

Over the mountains, winding down. 
Horse and foot into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frictchie then, 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town. 

She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 

In her attic-window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 

"Halt ! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast ; 
" Fire ! " — out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 



882 



r E Jii s or A M B I T 1 X. 



Quick, ns it fell, from the brolcon stall' 
])anio Barbara snatched the sillccu scarf; 

Slio leaned fur ont on tlio window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal a\111. 

"•Shoot, if you must, this old grey licad. 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a bhish of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word : 

" Who touches a hair of yon grey head 
Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded tho tread of marching feet ; 

All day long that free ilag tost 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and foil 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it Avith a Avarm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's Avork is o'er, 

And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonowairs bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 
Flag of freedom and union, wave ! 

Peace, and order, and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law^ ; 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 

John Greeni.eaf Whittiek. 



TlIK BLACK REGIMENT. 
jiAY 27x11, 18G3. 
Dauk as the clouds of even. 
Ranked in the western heaven, 
"Waiting the breath that lifts 
*A11 the dead mass, and drifts 
Tempest and falling bi-and 
Over a ruined land ; — 
So still and orderly, 
Arm to arm, knee to knee, 
"Waiting the great event. 
Stands the black regiment. 



Down the long dusky line 
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine; 
And the bright bayonet, 
Bristling and llrmly set, 
Flashed with a purpose grand, 
Bong ere the sharp command 
Of tho fierce rolling drum 
Told them their time had come, 
Told thcin what work was sent 
For the black regiment. 

"Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
"Though death and hell betide, 
Let the whole nation see 
If we are fit to be 
Free in this land ; or bound 
Down, like tho whining hound — 
Bound with red stripes of pain 
In our cold chains again ! " 
Oh ! what a shout there went 
From the black regiment! 

" Charge ! " Trump and drum awoke; 
Onward the bondmen broke ; 
Bayonet and sabre-stroke 
Vainly opposed their rush. 
Through the wild battle's crush, 
"With but one thought aflush. 
Driving their lords like chafl". 
In tho i;nns' mouths they laugh ; 
Or at the slippery brands 
Leaping with open hands, 
Down they tear man and horse, 
Dow^a in their awful course ; 
Trampling with bloody heel 
Over the crashing steel; — 
All their eyes forward bent. 
Rushed the black regiment. 

" Freedom ! " their battle-cry — 
" Freedona ! or leave to die ! " 
Ah ! and they meant the word, 
Not as W'ith us 'tis heard. 
Not a mere party shout ; 
They gave their spirits out, 
Trusted the end to God, 
And on the gory sod 
RoUed in triumphant blood. 
Glad to strike one free blow, 
Whether for weal or woe ; 
Glad to breathe one free breath, 
Though on the lips of death ; 



INCIDENT OF THE FREXGII CAMP, 



383 



Prajing — alas! in vain! — 
That they might fall again, 
So tlicy could once more see 
That burst to liljcrty! 
This was what " freedom " lent 
To the black regiment. 

Ilnndreds on hundreds fell ; 
But they arc resting well ; 
Scourges and shackles strong 
Never shall do them wrong. 
Oh, to the living few, 
Soldiers, be.ju.st and true ! 
Hail them as comrades tried ; 
Fight with them side by side ; 
Never, in field or tent. 
Scorn the black regiment I 

Geoece IIenet Bokep.. 



INCIDENT OF THE FKENCII CAMP. 



You know we French stormed Katisbon ; 

A mile or so away. 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming-day ; 
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
As if to balance the prone brow, 

Oppressive with its mind. 



Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall, 
Let once my array-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall," — 
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound, 

lU. 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just hLs horse's mane, a boy : 

You hardly could snspect — 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed. 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 



" Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace 

Wo 've got you Ratisbon ! 
The marshal 's in the market-place, 

And you '11 be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire. 
Perched him! " The chiefs eye flashed; his 
plans 

Soared up again like fire. 



The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother eagle's eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes: 
" You 're wounded ! " " Nay," his soldier's 
pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
" I 'ra killed, sire ! " And, his chief beside, 

Smiling, the boy fell dead, 

ROBEET BeOWNIXO. 



nOHENLINDEN, 

Ox Linden, when the sun was low. 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight 
When the drum beat, at dea<l of night. 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed. 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade. 
And furious every charger neighed ' 
To join the dreadful revelry. , 

Then shook tlie hills with thunder riven; 
Tlien rushed the steed.-; to battle driven ; 
And, louder than the bolts of heaven. 
Far flashed the red artillery. 

But redder yet those fires shall glow 
On Linden's hills of crimsoned snow, 
And bloodier yet shall be the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

'T is morn ; but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dan, 



S84 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



"Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 
Who rush to glory or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave. 
And charge with all thy chivalry ! 

Few, few shall part where many meet ! 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet ; 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 

Thomas Campbbli-. 



THE CHAEGE OF THE LIGHT BRIG- 
ADE AT BALAKLAYA. 

Half a league, half a league. 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of death. 

Rode the sis hundred. 

Into the valley of death 

Rode the six hundred ; 
For up came an order which 

Some one had blundered. 
" Forward, the light brigade ! 
Take the guns ! " Nolan said : 
Into the valley of death. 

Rode the sis hundred. 

"Forward the light brigade! " 
No man was there dismayed — 
Not though the soldier knew 

Some one had blundered : ^ 

Theirs not to make reply. 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die — 
Into the valley of death. 

Rode the sis hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them, 

Volleyed and thundered. 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well ; 
Into the jaws of death, 
Into the mouth of hell. 

Rode the sis hundred. 

Flashed all their sabres bare, 
Flashed all at once in air, 



Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an array, while 

All the world wondered. 
Plunged in the battery smoke. 
With many a desp'rate stroke 
The Russian line they broke ; 
Then they rode back, but not — 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon behind them, 

Yolleyed and thundered. 
Stormed at with shot and shell. 
While horse and hero fell, 
Those that had fought so well 
Came from the jaws of death, 
Back from the mouth of hell. 
All that was left of them. 

Left of sis hundred. 

Wlaen can their glory fade ? 
Oh the wild charge they made ! 

AU the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the light brigade. 

Noble sis hundred ! 

Alfred Tenntsos. 

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND : 

A NAA'AL ODE. 
I. 

Ye mariners of England ! 

That guard our native seas ; 

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 

The battle and the breeze ! 

Your glorious standard launch again. 

To match another foe ! 

And sweep through the deep 

While the stormy winds do blow ; 

While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

II. 
The spirits of your fathers 
Shall start from every wave !— 
For the deck it was their field of fame, 
And ocean was their grave. 
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 
Your manly hearts shall glow, 



BATTLE OF 


niE BALTIC. 3Sn 


As ye sweep tlirougli the deep 


It was ten of April morn by the chime. 


While the stormv winds do blow — 


As they drifted on their path 


While the battle rages loud and long, 


There was silence deep as death ; 


And the stormy winds do blow. 


And the boldest held his breath 


III. 


For a time. 


Britannia needs no bulwarks, 


III. 


No towers along the steep ; 


But the might of England flushed 


Her march is o'er the mountain- wave, 


To anticipate the scene ; 


Iler home is on the deep. 


And her van the fleeter rushed 


AVith thunders from her native oak 


O'er the deadly space between. 


She quells the floods below, 


" Hearts of oak ! " our captain cried; when 


As they roar on the shore 


each gun 


When the stormy winds do blow — 


From its adamantine lips 


When the battle rages loud and long. 


Spread a death-shade round the ships, 


And the stormy winds do blow. 


Like the hurricane eclipse 




Of the sun. 


IV. 

The meteor flag of England 


IV. 


Shall yet terrific burn, 


Again ! again ! again ! 


Till danger's troubled night depart, 


And the havock did not slack, 


And the star of peace return. 


Till a feeble cheer the Dane 


Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 


To our cheering sent us back ; 


Our song and feast shall flow 


Their shots along the deep slowly boom— ] 


To the fame of your name, 


Then ceased — and all is wail, ; 


When the storm has ceased to blow — 


As they strike the shattered sail, 


When the fiery fight is heard no more. 


Or, in conflagration pale, ; 


And the storm has ceased to blow. 


Light the gloom. 


Thomas Oampbelu 


V. 




Out spoke the victor then. 


• 




As he hailed them o'er the wave : 


BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 


" Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 




And we conquer but to save ; 


I. 


So peace instead of death let us bring ; 


Of Nelson and the north 


But yield, proud foe, thy fleet. 


Sing the glorious day's renown, 


With the crews, at England's feet. 


When to battle fierce came forth 


And make submission meet 


All tlie might of Denmark's crown, 


To our king." 


And her arms along the deep proudly 




shone ; 


VI. 


By each gun the lighted brand 


Then Denmark blessed our chief. 


In a bold determined hand, , 


That he gave her wounds repose ; 


And the prince of all the land 


And the sounds of joy and grief 


Led them on. 


From her people wildly rose. 


II. 


As death withdrew his shades from tho 

day. 
While the sun looked smiling bright ; 


Like Icviatlians afloat 


Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; 


O'er a wide and woeful sight. 


While the sign of battle flew 


Where the fires of funeral light 


Ou the loftv British line — 


Died away. 


53 


■ 



38G 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Now joy, old England, raise! 

For the tidings of thy might, 

By the festtil cities' blaze, 

AVhilst the wine-cup shines in light; 

And yet, amidst that joy and uproar. 

Let us think of them that sleep 

Full numy a fathom deep, 

By thy wild and stormy steep, 

Elsinore ! 

vni. 
Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride 
Once so faithful and so true, 
On the deck of fame that died, 
AVitli the gallant good Riou — 
Soft sigh the Avinds of heaven o'er their 

grave ! 
"While the billow mournful rolls. 
And the mermaid's song condoles. 
Singing glory to the souls 
Of the brave ! 

Thomas Campbell. 



THE SEA FIGHT. 

A9 TOLD BY AX AXCIENT MAIUNEK. 

Ah, yes — the light ! Well, messmates, well, 
I served on board that Ninety-eight; 

Yet what I saw I loathe to tell. 
To-night, be sure a crushing weight 

Upon my sleeping breast — a hell 
Of dread will sit. At any rate. 

Though land-locked here, a watch I '11 keep — 

Grog cheers us still. "Who cares for sleep ? 

That Ninety-eight I sailed on board ; 

Along the Frenchman's coast we flew ; 
Bight aft the rising tempest roared ; 

A noble first-rate liove in view ; 
And soon high in the gale there soared 

Her streamed-out bunting — red, white, 
blue! 
"We cleared for fight, and landward bore. 
To get between the chase and shore. 

Masters, I cannot spin a yarn 

Twice laid with words of silken stuff. 

A iiict 's a fact ; and ye may larn 
The rights o' this, though wild and rough 



My words may loom. 'T is your consarn, 
Not mine, to understand. Enough; — 
We neared the Frenchman where he lay, 
And as we neared, he blazed away. 

We tacked, hove to ; we filled, we wore ; 

Did all that seamanship could do 
To rake him aft, or by the fore — 

Now rounded oft", and now broached to ; 
And now our starboard broadside bore. 

And showers of iron through and through 
Ilis vast hull hissed; our larboard then 
Swept from his three-fold decks his men. 

As we, like a huge ser])ent, toiled. 

And wound about, through that wild sea, 

The Frenchman each manoeuvre foiled — 
'"Vantage to neither there could be. 

Whilst thus the waves between us boiled. 
We both resolved right manfully 

To fight it side by side ; — began 

Then the fierce strife of man to man. 

Gun bellows forth to gun, and pain 
Rings out her wild, delirious scream ! 

Redoubling thunders shake the main ; 
Loud crashing, falls the shot-rent beam. 

The timbers with the broadsides strain ; 
The slippery decks send up a steam 

From hot and living blood — and high 

And shrill is heard the death-pang cry. 

The shredded limb, the splintered bone, 
Th' unstittened corpse, now block the way I 

Who now can hear the dying groan ? 
The trumpet of the judgment day. 

Had it pealed forth its migiity tone. 

We should not then have heard, — to say 

Would be rank sin ; but this I tell. 

That could alone our madness quell. 

Upon the fore-castle I ft)ught 

As captain of the for'ad gun. 
A scattering shot the carriage caught I 

AVhat mother then had known her son 
Of those who stood around ? — distraught, 

And smeared with gore, about they run, 
Then fall, and writhe, and howling die! 
But one escaped — that one Avas I ! 



CASABIANCA. 



387 



Night darkened round, and the storm pealed, 

To windward of ns lay the foe. 
As ho to leeward over keeled, 

lie could not fight his guns below; 
So just was going to strike — v/hen reeled 

Our vessel, as if some vast blow 
From au Almighty hand had rent 
The huge ship from her element. 

Then howled the thunder. Tumult then 
Had stunned herself to silence. Round 

Were scattered liglitning-blasted men ! 
Our mainmast went. All stilled, drowned, 

Arose the Frenchman's shout. Again 
The bolt burst on us, and we found 

Our masts all gone — our decks all riven : 

— Man's war mocks faintly that of heaven ! 

Just then — nay, messmate.?, laugh not now — 

As I, amazed, one minute stood 
Amidst that rout; I know not how — 

'T was silence all — the raving flood, 
The guns that pealed from stem to bow. 

And God's own thunder — nothing conld 
I then of all that tumult hear, 

Or see aught of that scene of fear. 

My aged mother at her door 

Sat mildly o'er her humming wheel ; 

The cottage, orchard, and the moor — 
I saw them plainly all, Fll kneel. 

And swear I saw tliem ! Oh, they wore 
A look all peace. Could I but feel 

Again that bliss that then I felt, 

That made my heart, like childhood's, melt ! 

The blessed tear was on my cheek, 

She smiled with that old smile I know : 

" Turn to me, mother, turn and speak," 
Was on my quivering lips — when lo ! 

All vanished, and a dark, red streak 
Glared wild and vivid from the foe, 

That flashed upon the blood-stained water — 

For fore and aft the flames had caught her. 

She struck and hailed us. On us fast 
All burning, helplessly, she came — 

Near, and more near ; and not a mast 
ILad we to help us from that flame. 

'Twas then the bravest stood aghast — 
'Twas then the wicked, on the name 

(With danger and with guilt appalled,) 

Of God, too long neglected, called. 



Th' eddying flames Avith ravening tongue 
Now on our ship's dark bulwarks dasli — 

We almost touched — when ocean rung 
Down to its depths with one loud crash 1 

In heaven's top vault one instant hung 
The vast, intense, and blinding flash ! 

Then all was darkness, stillness, dread — 

The wave moaned o'er the valiant dead. 

She 's gone 1 blown up ! that gallant foe 1 
And though she left us in a plight. 

We floated still ; long were, I know, 
And hard, the labors of that night 

To clear the wreck. At length in tow 
A frigate took us, when 't was light ; 

And soon an English port we gained — 

A hulk all battered and blood-stained. 

So many slain — so many drowned! 

I like not of that figlit to tell. 
Come, let the cheerful grog go round ! 

Messmates, I 've done. A spell, ho, spell- 
Though a pressed man, I '11 still be found 

To do a seaman's duty well. 
I wish our brother landsmen knew 
One half we jolly tars go through. 

ANONTMOUfl 



CASABIANCA. 

The boy stood on the burning deck 
Whence all but he had fled ; 

The flame that lit the battle's wreck 
Shone round him o'er the dead. 

Yet beautiful and bright he stood. 

As born to rule the storm ; 
A creature of heroic blood, 

A proud, though child-like form. 

The flames rolled on — he would not go 

Without his father's word ; 
That father, faint in death below, 

Ilis voice no longer heard. 

He called aloud — " Say, father, say, 

If yet my task is done ? " 
He knew not that the chieftain lay 

Unconscious of his son. 



— I 



388 



POEMS OF AMBITION 



" Speak, father ! " once again he cried, 

" If I may yet he gone ! " 
And l)Ut the booming shots replied, 

And fast the flames rolled on. 

Upon his brow he felt their breath. 

And in his waving hair, 
And looked from that lone post of death 

In still, yet brave despair. 

And shouted but once more aloud, 

"My father! must I stay?" 
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, 

The wreathing fires made way. 

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, 

Q'hey caught the flag on high, 
And streamed above the gallant child. 

Like banners in the sky. 

There came a burst of thunder sound — 

The boy — oh ! where was he ? 
Ask of the winds that far around 

With fragments strewed the sea! — 

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair. 
That well had borne their part — 

Bnt the noblest thing that perished there 
Was that young, faithful heart ! 

Felicia Dorothea IIemans. 



SONG OF THE GREEK POET. 

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung. 
Where grew the arts of war and peace — 

Where Dclos rose, and Phoebus sprung! 
Eternal summer gilds them yet ; 
But all, except their sun, is set. 

The Scian and the Teian nmse. 
The hero's harp, the lover's lute. 

Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 
Their place of birth alone is mute 

To sounds which echo further west 

Than your sires' "Islands of the Blest." 

The mountains look on Marathon, 
And Marathon looks on the sea : 

And musing there an hour alone, 

I dreamed that Greece might still be free; 

For standing on the Persians' grave, 

I could not deem myself a slave. 



A king sat on the rocky brow 

Which looks o'er sea-born* Salamis ; 

And ships, by thousands, lay below, 
And men in nations — all were his! 

lie counted them at break of day — 

And when the sun set, where were they ? 

And where are they ? and where art thou 
My country ? On thy voiceless shore 

The heroic lay is tuneless now — 
The heroic bosom beats no more ! 

And must thy lyre, so long divine. 

Degenerate into hands like mine ? 

'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, 
Though linked among a fettered race, 

To feel at least a patriot's shame. 
Even as I sing, sufl'use my face ; 

For what is left the poet here ? 

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 

Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled. 
Earth! render back from out tliy breast 

A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the three hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopyla3 ! 

What! silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah no! — the voices of the dead 
Sound hke a distant torrent's fall. 

And answer, "Let one living head, 
But one, arise — we come, we come ! " 
'T is but the living who are dumb. 

In vain — in vain ; strike other chords ; 

Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes. 

And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! 
Ilai'k ! rising to the ignoble call. 
How answers each bold Bacchanal! 

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, 
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? 

Of two such lessons, why forget 
The nobler and the manlier one? 

You have the letters Cadmus gave — 

Think ye he meant them for a slave ? 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

We will not think of themes like these ! 
It luade Anacreon's song divine ; 

He served — but served Polycrates — 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 



389 



A tyrant ; but our masters then 
Were still at least our countrymen. 

The tyrant of the Chersonese 

"Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; 
That tyrant was Miltiades ! 

Oh that the present hour would lend 
Another despot of the kind ! 
Such chains as his were sure to bind. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, 
Exists the remnant of a line 

Such as the Doric mothers bore ; 
And there perhaps some seed is sown 
The neraclcidan blood might own. 

Trast not for freedom to the Franks — 
They have a king who buys and sells ; 

In native swords, and native ranks, 
The only hope of courage dwells ; 

But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, 

Would bi'cak your shield, however broad. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

Our virgins dance beneath the shade— 
I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 

But gazing on each glowing maid, 
My own the burning tear-drop laves, 
To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 

Place mc on Sunium's piarbled steep, 
Where nothing, save the waves and I, 

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
There, swan-like, let me slug and die. 

A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 

Lord Byron. 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent. 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliancc bent, 

Should tremble at his power. 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring — 
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing. 

As Eden's garden bird. 



At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band — 
True as the steel of their tried blades. 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood. 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood. 

On old Plata3a's day ; 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there. 
With arms to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far, as they. 



An hour passed on — the Turk awoke : 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 

"To arms! they come! the Greek I tlie 
Greek ! " 
He woke — to die midst flame, and smoke. 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
" Strike — till the last armed foe expires ; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires; 
God — and your native land ! " 



They fouglit — like brave men, long and well; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain; 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
Ilis few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose. 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, death. 
Come to the mother's, when she feels. 

For the first time, her first-born's breath; 
Come when the blessed seals 

That close the pestilence are broke, 

And crowded cities wail its stroke; 

Come in consumption's ghastly form, 

The earthquake-shock, the ocean-storm ; 

Come when tlie heart beats high and n'arm, 



390 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



With banquet-song, aud dance, and wine ; 
And thou art' terrible — tlie tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier ; 
iVnd all we know, or dream, or fear 

Of agony, are thine. 



But to the liero, Avhen his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word ; 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Come, when his task of fame is wrought — 
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought — 

Come in her crowning hour — and then 
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light 
'J'o him is welcome as the siglit 

Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; 
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand 
Of brother in a foreign land ; 
Thy sumnions welcome as the cry 
That told the Indian isles were nigh 

To the world-seeking Genoese, 
When the land-wind, from woods of palm, 
And orange-gi'ovcs, and fields of balm, 

Blew o'er the Ilaytian seas. 



Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave. 

Even in her own proud clime. 
She wore no funei'al weeds for thee, 

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, 
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, 
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 

The heartless luxury of the tomb. 
But she remembers thee as one 
Long loved, and for a season gone. 
For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, 
Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 
For thee she rings the birth-day bells ; 
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells; 
For thine her evening prayer is said 
At palace couch, and cottage bed; 
Her soldier, closing with the foe. 
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 
His plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years, 
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. 



And she, the mother of thy boys, 
Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak, 

The memory of her buried joys — • 
And even she who gave thee birth. 
Will, by her pilgrim-cii'cled hearth. 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh; 
For thou art freedom's now, and fame's — 
One of the few, the immortal names 

That were not born to die. 

Fitz-Gkeene IIalleob:. 



THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. 

Wno fears to speak of Ninety-eight ? 

Who blushes at the name? 
When cowards mock the patriot's fate, 

Who hangs his head fov shame? 
He 's all a knave, or half a slave, 

Who slights his country thus; 
But a true man, like you, man, 

Will fill your glass with us. 

We drink the memory of the brave, 

The faithful and the few — 
Some lie far off beyond the wave — 

Some sleep in Ireland, too ; 
All, all are gone — ^but still lives on 

The fame of those who died — 
All true men, like you, men. 

Remember them with pride. 

Some on the shores of distant lands 

Their weary hearts have laid. 
And by the stranger's heedless hands 

Their lonely graves were made ; 
But, though their clay be far away 

Beyond the Atlantic foam — 
In true men, like you, men, 

Their spirit 's still at home. 

The dust of some is Irish earth ; 

Among their own they rest; 
And the same land that gave them birth 

Has caught them to her breast ; 
And we will pray that from their clay 

Full many a race may start 
Of true men, like you, men, 

To act as brave a part. 



SONNETS. 



391 



They rose in dark and evil days 

To right their native Lnud ; 
They kindled here a living blaze 

That nothing shall withstand. 
Alas ! that might can vanquish right — 

They fell and passed away ; 
But true men, like you, men, 

Arc plenty here to-day. 

Then here 's tlicir memory — may it he 

For us a guiding light, 
To cheer our strife for liberty, 

And teach us to unite. 
Through good and ill, be Ireland's still, 

Though sad as theirs your fate; 
And true men, be you, men, 

Like those of Xinety-eight ! 

Jonx Kells iNGr.Air. 



A¥ ODE. 

What constitutes a state? 
Not high raised battlement or labored mound. 

Thick wall or moated gate ; 
Not cities proud with spires and turrets 
crowned ; 

Not bays and broad-armed ports, 
"Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies 
ride ; 

Not starred and spangled courts. 
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to 
pride. 

No : — men, high-minded men, 
"With powers as far above dull brutes endued 

In forest, brake, or den. 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude — 

Men who their duties know, 
But know theh* rights, and, knowing, dare 
maintain, 

Prevent the long-aimed blow. 
And crush the tyrant while they rend the 
chain ; 

These constitute a state ; 
And sovereign law, that state's collected will. 

O'er thrones and globes elate, 
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. 

Sniit by her sacred frown, 
Tlio fiend, dissension, like a vapor sinks ; 

And e'en the all-dazzling crown 
nides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. 



Such was this heaven-loved isle, 
Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore ! 

No more shall freedom smile ? 
Shall Britons languish, and be men no more ? 

Since all must life resign. 
Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 

'T is folly to decline. 
And steal inglorious to the silent grave. 

SiK "Wii-LiAM Jokes. 



SONNETS. 



LOlfDOX, 1802. 



MiLTox! thou shouldst be living at this hour; 
England hath need of thee. She is a fen 
Of stagnant waters. Altar, sword, and pen, 
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 
Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. "We are selfish men ; 
Oh, raise us up, return to us again, 
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power ! 
Thy soul Avas like a star, and dwelt apart ; 
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the 

sea; 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 
So didst thou travel on life's common way 
In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 



TO TOTJSSAINT L'orVTJKTTTEE. 

TorssAixT, the most unhappy man of men! 
"Whether the Vv-histliug rustic tend his plough 
"Within thy hearing, or thy head be now 
Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den — 
O miserable chieftain ! where and Avlien 
"Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do 

thou 
"Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow. 
Thougli fallen thyself, never to rise again, 
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left be- 
hind 
Powers that will vrork for thee — air, earth, 

and skies. 
There 's not a breathing of the common wind 
That will forget thee. Thou hast great allies ■ 
Thy friends are exultations, agonies. 
And love, and man's unconquerable mind. 
■William Woedswoiith. 



,J 



392 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



OX A BUST OF DANTE. 

See, from this counterfeit of him 
"Whom Anio shall remember long, 
How stern of lineament, how grim, 
The father was of Tuscan song ! 
There but the burning sense of wrong, 
Perijetual care, and scorn, abide — 
Small frieudship for the lordly tlirong, 
Distrust of all the world beside. 

Faithful if this wan image be. 

No dream his life was — but a fight ; 

Could any Beatrice see 

A lover in that anchorite ? 

To that cold Ghibeline's gloomy sight 

Who could have guessed the visions came 

Of beauty, veiled with heavenly light. 

In circles of eternal flame ? 

The lips as Gump's cavern close, 
The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin, 
The rigid front, almost morose, 
But for the patient hope within, 
Declare a life whose course hath been 
Unsullied still, though still severe. 
Which, tlirough the wavering days of sin, 
Kept itself icy-chaste and clear. 

Not wholly such his haggard look 
When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed, 
With no companion save his book, 
To Oorvo's hushed monastic shade ; 
Where, as the Benedictine laid 
His palm upon the pilgrim guest, 
The single boon for which he prayed 
The convent's charity was rest. 

Peace dwells not here — this rugged face 
Betrays no spu-it of repose ; 
The sullen warrior sole we trace, 
The mai'ble man of many woes. 
Such was his mien when first arose 
The thought of that strange tale divine — 
When hell he peopled with his foes. 
The scourge of many a guilty line. 

War to the last he waged with all 
The tyrant canker-worms of earth ; 
Baron and duke, in hold and hall, 
Cm-sed the dark hour that gave him birth ; 



He used Rome's harlot for his mirth ; 
Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime ; 
But valiant souls of knightly worth 
Transmitted to the rolls of time. 

O time ! whose vei-dicts mock our own, 
The only righteous judge art thou; 
That poor, old exile, sad and lone, 
Is Latium's other Virgil now. 
Before his name the nations bow ; 
His words are parcel of mankind, 
Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow. 
The marks have sunk of Dante's mind. 

Tuo.MAS William Parsons. 



ON A SEPvMON AGiilNST GLORY. 

OoME then, tell me, sage divine, 

Is it an offence to own 
That our bosoms e'er incline 

Toward immortal glory's throne ? 
For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure, 
Bourbou's might, Braganza's treasure, 
So can fancy's dream rejoice, 
So conciliate reason's choice. 
As one approving word of her impartial voice 

If to spurn at noble praise 

Be the passport to thy heaven, 
Follow thou those gloomy v/ays — 

No such law to me was given ; 
Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me, 
Faring like my friends before me ; 
Nor an holier place desire 
Than Timoleon's arms acquire, 
And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden 

lyre. 

Mark Akenside. 



EXCELSIOR. ;# 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device — 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
Flashed like a flmlchion from its sheath ; 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue — 
Excelsior ! 



EXCELSIOR. 



393 



In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan — 
Excelsior ! 

"Try not the pass," the old man said : .^ 
" Dai'k lowers the tempest overhead ; 
TJie roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
And loud tliat clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior ! 

"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
Beware the awful avalanche ! " 



This was the peasant's last good-night : 
A voice replied, far up the height. 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried, through the startled air, 
Excelsior ! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound. 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene rnd far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star — 
Excelsior ! 
Henet Wadsttc kth Longfellow. 



54 



PAET YL 
POEMS OF COMEDY 



Oh ! never wear a brow of care, or frown with rueful gravity, 
For wit's the child of wisdom, and good humor is the twin; 

No need to play the Pharisee, or groan at man's depi-avit^y, 
Let one man be a good man, and let all be fair within. " 

Speak sober truths with smiling lips; the bitter wrap in sweetness- 
Sound sense in seeming nonsense, as the grain is hid in chaif ; 

And fear not that the lesson e'er may seem to lack completeness— 
A man may say a wise thing, though he say it with a laugh. 

" A soft word oft turns wrath aside," (so says the great instructor,) 

A smile disarms resentment, and a jest drives gloom away ; 
A cheerful laugh to anger is a magical conductor, 

The deadly flash averting, quickly changing night to day. 
Then, is not he the wisest man who rids his brow of wrinkles. 

Who bears his load with merry heart, and lightens it by half— 
Whose pleasant tones ring in the ear, as mirthful music tinkles, 

And whose words are true and telling, though they echo in a laugh'? 

So temper life's work— weariness with timely relaxation ; 

Most witless wight of all is he who never plays the fool; 
The heart grows gray before the head, when sunk in sad prostration ; 

Its winter knows no Christmas, with its glowing log of Yule. 
Why weep, faint-hearted and forlorn, when evil comes to try us? 

The fount of hope wells ever nigh— 't will cheer us if we quaff 3 
And, when the gloomy phantom of despondency stands by us, 

Let us, in calm defiance, exorcise it with a laugh ! 

Anonymoiis. 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 

PART FIRST. 

LiTiiE and listen, gentlemen ; 

To sing a song I will begin : 
It is of a lord of fair Scotland, 

Wliich was the unthrifty heir of Linne. 

His father was a right good lord. 
His mother a lady of high degree ; 

But they, alas ! were dead him fro, 
And he loved keeping company. 

To spend the day with merry cheer, 
To drink and revel every night, 

To card and dice from even to morn, 
It Avas, I ween, his heart's delight. 

To ride, to run, to rant, to roar. 
To always spend and never spare, 

I wot, an he were the king himself. 
Of gold and fee he might be bare. 

So fares the unthrifty heir of Linne, 
Till all his gold is gone and spent ; 

And he maun sell his lands so broad, 
His house, and lands, and all his rent. 

His father had a keen steward. 
And John o' Scales was called he ; 

But John is become a gentleman, 
And John lias got both gold and fee. 

Says, " Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne ; 

Let nought disturb thy heavy cheer ; 
If thou wilt sell thy lands so broad, 

Good store of gold I '11 give thee here." 



"My gold is gone, my money is spent, 
My land now take it unto thee : 

Give me the gold, good John o' Scales, 
And thine for aye my land shall be." 

Then John he did him to record draw, 
And John he gave him a god's-penny ; 

But for every pound that John agreed. 
The land, I wis, was well worth three. 

He told him the gold upon the board ; 

He was right glad the land to win : 
" The land is mine, the gold is thine, 

And now I '11 be the lord of Linne." 

Thus he hath sold his land so broad ; 

Both hill and holt, and moor and fen, 
All but a poor and lonesome lodge, 

That stood far off in a lonely glen. 

For so he to his father liight : 

" My son, when I am gone," said he, 

" Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad. 
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free ; 

" But swear me now upon the rood, 
That lonesome lodge thou 'It never spend ; 

For when all the world doth frown on thee, 
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend." 

The heir of Linne is full of gold ; 

And, " Come with me, my friends," said he ; 
"Let's drink, and rant, and merry make. 

And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee." 



598 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



They ranted, drank, and merry made, 

Till all his gold it -waxed thin ; 
And then his friends they slunk away ; 

They left the unthrifty heir of Linne. 

He had never a penny left in his purse, 

Never a penny left but three ; 
The one was brass, the other was lead, 

And t' other it was white money. 

' Kow well-a-way ! " said the heir of Linne, 
" Now well-a-way, and woe is me ! 

For when I v,^as the lord of Linne, 
I never Avanted gold nor fee. 

" But many a trusty friend have I, 
And Avhy should I feel dole or care ? 

I '11 borrow of them all by turns. 
So need I not be ever bare." 

But one, I wis, was not at home ; 

Another had paid his gold away ; 
Another called him thriftless loon. 

And sharply bade him wend his way 

"Now well-a-way ! " said the heir of Linne, 
" Now" well-a-way, and woe is me ! 

For when I had my land so broad. 
On me they lived right merrily. 

" To beg my bread from door to door, 
I wis, it were a burning shame : 

To rob and steal it were a sin : 
To work my limbs I cannot frame. 

"Now I'll away to the lonesome lodge, 
For there my father bade me wend : 

When all the world should frown on me, 
I there should find a trusty friend." 

PAKT SECOND. 

Away then hied the heir of Linue, 
O'er hill and holt, and moor and fen, 

Until he came to the lonesome lodge. 
That stood so low in a lonely glen. 



The little window, dim and dark, 
Was hung with ivy, brier, and yew ; 

No shimmering sun here ever shone ; 
No halesome breeze here ever blew. 

No chair, no table, he mote spy. 
No cheerful hearth, no welcome bed, 

Nought save a rope with a running nooso, 
That dangling hung up o'er his head. 

And over it, in broad letters. 

These words were written, so plain to sec : 
" Ah ! graceless wretch, hath spent thy all, 

And brought thyself to penury ? 

" All this my boding mind misgave, 
I therefore left this trusty friend : 

Now let it shield thy foul disgrace. 
And all thy shume and sorrows end." 

Sorely vexed with this rebuke, 

Sorely vexed was the heir of Linne; 

His heart, I wis, was near to burst. 
With guilt and sorrow, shame and sin. 

Never a word spake the heir of Linne, 
Is^ever a word he spake but three : 

"This is a trusty friend indeed, 
And is right welcome unto me." 

Then round his neck the cord he drew, 
And sprung aloft with his body ; 

When lo ! the ceiling burst in twain, 
And to the ground came tumbling he. 

Astonished lay the heir of Linue, 
Nor knew if he were live or dead ; 

At length he looked and saw a bill. 
And in it a key of gold so red. 

He took the bill and looked it on ; 

Straight good comfort found he there ; 
It told hhn of a hole in the wall 

In which there stood three chests in-fere. 



He looked up, he looked down, 
In hope some comfort for to win ; 

But bare and lothely were the walls : 

"Here's sorry cheer!" quoth the heir of 
Linne. 



Two were full of the beaten gold ; 

The third was full of white money 
And over them, in broad letters, 

These words were written so plain to see : 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



399 



•' Onco more, my son, I set thee clear ; 

Amend thy life and follies past; 
For, but tliou amend thee of thy life, 

That rope must be thy end at last." 

" And let it be," said the heir of Linne; 

" And let it be, but if I amend : 
For here I will make mine avow. 

This reade shall guide me to the end." 

Away then went the heir of Linne, 
Away he went with merry cheer ; 

I wis he neither stint nor stayed. 
Till John o' the Scales' house he came near. 

And when he came to John o' the Scales, 
Up at the spere then looked he ; 

There sat three lords at the board's end. 
Were drinking of the wine so free. 

Then up bespoke the heir of Linne ; 

To John o' the Scales then could he : 
" I pray thee now, good John o' the Scales, 

One forty pence for to lend me." 

"Away, away, thou thriftless loon! 

Away, away ! this may not be : 
For a curse be on my head," he said, 

" If ever I lend thee one penny." 

Then bespoke the heir of Linne, 

To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he : 
" Madam, some alms on me bestOAV, 

I pray, for sweet Saint Charity." 

•' Away, away, thou thriftless loon ! 

I swear thou gettcst no alms of me ; 
For if we should hang any losel here. 

The first we would begin with thee." 

Tlien up bespoke a good fellow ' 

Which sat at John o' the Scales his board : 
Said, " Turn again, thou heir of Linne ; 

Some time thoa vv as a well good lord : 

" Some time a good fellow thou hast been. 
And sparedst not thy gold and fee; 

Therefore I '11 lend thee forty pence. 
And other forty if need be. 



" And ever I pray thee, John o' the Scales, 

To let him sit in thy company ; 
For well I wot thou hadst his land, 

And a good bargain it was to thee." 

Then up bespoke him John o' the Scales, 
All woode he answered him again : 

"Nov/ a curse be on my head," he said, 
" But I did lose by that bargain. 

" And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne, 
Before these lords so fair and free, 

Thou shalt have 't back again better cheap. 
By a hundred merks, than I had it of thee." 

"I draw you to record, lords," he said; 

"With that he gave him a god's-penny : 
"Now, by my fay," said the heir of Linne, 

"And here, good John, is thy money." 

And he pulled forth the bags of gold. 
And laid them down upon the board ; 

All wo-begone was John o' the Scales, 
So vexed he could say never a word. 

He told him forth the good red gold, 
He told it forth with mickle din ; 

" The gold is thine, the land is mine. 
And now I 'm again the lord of Linne ! " 

Says, " Have thou here, thou good fellow ; 

Forty pence thou didst lend me ; 
Now I 'm again the lord of Linne, 

And foi'ty pounds I will give thee." 

" Now well-a-way ! " quoth Joan o' tlie Scales , 
" Now well-a-way, and wo is my life ! 

Yesterday I was lady of Linne, 

Now I 'm but John o' the Scales his Avife." 

" Now fave-lhee-well," said the heir of Linne, 
"Farewell, good John o' the Scales," said 
he; 
" When next I want to iicll my land, 
Good John o' the Scales, I '11 come to thee." 

Anonymous. 



100 P E M S F 


1 
COMEDY. 




This being done, he did engage 


TIIE DRAGOJT OF WANTLEY. 


To hew the dragon down ; 




But first he went new armor to 


Old stories tell how Hei-cules 


Bespeak at Sheffield town ; 


A dragon slew at Lerna, 


With spikes all about, not within but without, 


"With seven heads and fourteen eyes, 


Of steel so sharp and strong. 


To see and well discern-a ; 


Both behind and before, legs, arms, and all 


But he had a cluh this dragon to druh, 


o'er. 


Or he ne'er had done it, I warrant ye ; 


Some five or six inches long. 


But More, of More-hall, with nothing at all. 


1 


He slew the dragon of Wantley. 






Had you but seen him in this dress, 


This dragon had two furious wings. 


How fierce he looked, and how big, 


Each one upon each shoulder ; 


You would have thought him for to be 


With a sting in his tail as long as a flail, 


Some Egyptian porcupig : 


Which made him bolder and bolder. 


He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 


He had long claws, and in his jaws 


Each cow, each horse, and each hog ; 


Four and forty teeth of iron ; 


For fear they did flee, for they took him to be 


With a hide as tough as any buff. 


Some strange, outlandish hedge-hog. 


Which did him round envij-on. 




Have you not heard how the Trojan horse 


To see this fight all people then 


Held seventy men in his belly ? 


Got up on trees and houses, 


This dragon was not quite so big, 


On churches some, and chimneys too ; 


But very near, I '11 tell yc ; 


But these put on their trousers. 


Devoured he poor children three, 


Not to spoil tlieir hose. As soon as he rose, 


That could not with him grapple ; 


To make him strong and mighty. 


And at one sup he ate them up. 


He drank, by the tale, six pots of ale, 


As one would eat an apple. 


And a quart of aqua-vitie. 


All sorts of cattle this dragon would cat. 


It is not strength that always- wins. 


Some say he ate up trees, 


For wit doth strength excel ; 


And that the forests sure he would 


Which made our cimning champion 


Devour up by degrees ; 


Creep down into a well, 


For houses and churches were to him geese 


Where he did think this dragon would drink. 


and turkeys ; 


And so he did in truth ; 


He ate all and left none behind. 


And as he stooped low, he rose up and cried. 


But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not 


boh! 


crack. 


And kicked him in the mouth. 


Which on the hills you will find. 




Hard by a furious kniglit there dwelt ; 


Oh ! quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh. 


Men, womer girls, and boys, 


And turned six times together. 


Sighing and soboing, came to his lodging. 


Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing 


And made a hideous noise. 


Out of his throat of leather. 


Oh, save us all. More of More-hall, 


More of More-hall, oh thou rascal! 


Thou peerles.s knight of these woods ; 


Would I had seen thee never ! 


Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us 


With the thing at thy foot thou hast pricked 


a rag on, 


my throat, 


We '11 give thee all our goods. 


And I'm quite undone forever! 







GOOD 


ALE. 401 


Murder, murder ! the dragon cried. 


Then doth she trowl to me the bowl, 


Alack, alack, for grief! 


Even as a malt-worm should ; 


Had you but missed tliat place, you could 


And saith, " Sweetheart, I took ray part 


Have done mc no mischief. 


Of this jolly good ale and old." 


Then his head he shaked, trembled, and 


Bach and side go tare, go tare; 


quaked, 


Both foot and hand go cold; 


And down he lay and cried ; 


But, telly, God send thee good ale 


First on one knee, then on back tumbled he. 


enough. 


So groaned, and kicked, and died. 


Whether it te new or old ! 


Old Ballad. (English.) 




Version of Coventry Patmoke. 






Now let them drink tiU they nod and 




wink. 
Even as good fellows should do ; 






They shall not miss to have the bliss 


GOOD ALE. 


Good ale doth bring men to ; 




And all poor souls that have scoured 


I oAnrxoT eat but little meat— 


bowls. 


My stomach is not good ; 


Or have them lustily trowled. 


But sure, I think that I can drink 


God save the lives of them and their 


With him that wears a hood. 


wives. 


Though I go bare, take ye no care ; 


Whether they be young or old ! 


I am nothing a-cold — 


Bach and side go tare, go tare ; 


I stuff my skin so full within 


BotJifoot and hand go cold ; 


Oi" jolly good ale and old. 


But, telly, God send thee good ale 


Bach and side go hare, go tare ; 


enough, 


Both foot and hand go cold ; 


Whether it te new or old ! 


But, telly, God send thee good ale 


John Still. 


enough, 




Whether it le neic or old ! 
I love no roast but a nut-brown toast. 






And a crab laid in the fire ; 


THE JOVIAL BEGGAR. 


A little bread shall do me stead — 




Much bread I not desire. 


There was a jovial beggar. 


No frost nor snow, nor wind, I trow. 


He had a wooden leg. 


Can hurt me if I wold — 


Lame from his cradle, 


I am so wrapt, and thorowly lapt 


And forced for to beg. 


Of jolly good ale and old. 


And a-t egging we icill go, 


Bach and, side go tare, go tare ; 


Will go, loill go. 


Both foot and hand go cold; 


And a-tegging we will go. 


But, telly, God send thee good ale 


^ 


enough, 




Whether it te new or old ! 


A bag for his oatmeal, 




Another for his salt, 




And a long pair of crutches, ' 


And Tyb, my wife, that as her life 


To show that he can halt. 


Lovetli well good ale to seek. 


And a-tegging ice icill go. 


Full oft drinks she, till you may see 


Will go, icill go. 


Tlie tears run down her cheek ; 


And a-tegging we will go. 


55 





402 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



A bag for his wheat, 

Another Ibr his rye, 
Aud a httle bottle by his side. 
To drink when he 's a-dry. 
And a-leggiiig loe will go^ 

Will go, will go, 
And a-legging we to ill go. 

Seven years I begged 

For my old master Wilde, 
He taught me how to beg 
When I was but a child. 

And a-legging toe will go, 

Will go, to ill go. 
And a iegging tee will go. 

1 begged for my master, 

And got him store of pelf, 
But goodness now be pi-aised, 
I 'm begging for myself. 

And a-iegging ws will go. 

Will go, will go. 
And a-legging toe will go. 

In a hollow tree 

I live, and pay no rent. 

Providence provides for me. 

And I am well content. 

And a-hegging tee tcill go. 

Will go, tcill go, 
And a-hegging we will go. 

Of all the occupations 

A beggar's is the best, 
For whenever he 's a-wcary. 
He can lay him down to rest. 
And a-legging tee tcill go. 

Will go, tcill go, 
And a-hegging tee teill go, 

I fear no plots against me, 

I live in open cell ; 
Then Avho would be a king, lads, 
When the beggar lives so well ? 
And Oj-hegging tee teill go, 

Will go, teill go. 
And a-hegging tee tcill go. 

ANONTMOira. 



TAKE THY OLD CLOAKE ABOUT 
THEE. 

This winter weather — it waxetli cold. 

And frost doth freese on every hill ; 
And Boreas blows his Wastes so cold 

That all ur cattell are like to spill. 
Bell, my wife, who loves no strife, 

Shee sayd unto me quietlye, 
Else up, and save cowe Orurabocke's life — 

Man, put thy old cloake about thee. 



O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorne ? 

Thou kenst my cloake is very thin ; 
It is so bare and overworne 

A cricke he thereon can not renn. 
Thea He no longer borrowe or lend 

For once He new a2:)parelled be ; 
To morrow He to towne, and spend, 

For He have a new cloake about me. 



Cow Crumbocke is a very good cow — 

She has been alwayes true to the payle ; 
She has helped uis to butter and cheese, 1 
trow, 

And other things she will not fayle ; 
I wold be loth to see her pine ; 

Good husbaude, counsel take of me — 
It is not for us to go so fine ; 

Man, take thy old cloake about thee. 



My cloake, it was a very good cloake — 

It hath been alwayes true to the weare ; 
But now it is not worth a groat ; 

I have had it four and-forty yeare. 
Sometime it was of cloth in graine ; 

'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see ; 
It will neitlier hold nor winde nor raine — 

And lie have a new cloake about me. 



It is four-and-forty yecres ago 

Since the one of us the other did ken ; 
And we have had betwixt us towe 

Of children cither nine or ten ; 



MALBROUCK. 



40S 



We have brought them up to women and 
men — 

In the fere of God I trowe they he ; 
And why wilt thou thyself misken — 

Man, take thy old cloake about thee. 



Bell, my wife, why dost thou floute? 

Ifow is now, and then was then ; 
Sceke now all the world throughout. 

Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen ; 
They are clad in blacke, greene, yellowe, or 
gray, 

So far above their own degree — 
Once in my life He do as they. 

For lie have a new cloake about me. 

SHE. 

King Stephen was a worthy peere — 

His breeches cost him but a crowne ; 
He held them sixpence all too deere. 

Therefore he called the tailor loon. 
He was a wight of high renowne, 

And thou'se but of a low degree- 
It 's pride that puts this countrye downe ; 

Man, take thy old cloake about thee. 



Bell, my wife, she loves not strife, 

Yet she will lead me if she can ; 
And oft to live a quiet life 

I 'ra forced to yield though I be good-man. 
It 's not for a man with a woman to threepe, 

Unless he first give o'er .the plea; 
As we began sae will we leave, 

And He tak my old cloake about me. 

Anonymous. 



MALBROUCK. 

Malbkouck, the prince of commanders. 
Is gone to the war in Flanders; 
His fame is Tike Alexander's ; 

But when will he come home? 

Perhaps at Trinity feast ; or 
Perhaps he may come at Easter. 
Egad ! he had better make haste, or 
We fear he may never come. 



For Trinity feast is over, 
And has brought no news fi'orn Dover; 
And Easter is past, moreover. 
And Malbrouck still delays. 

Milady in her watch-tower 
Spends many a pensive hour. 
Not knowing why or how her 

Dear lord from England stays. 

While sitting quite forlorn in 
That tower, she spies returning 
A page clad in deep mourning. 
With fainting steps and slow. 

" page, prythee, come faster ! 

What news do you bring of your master? 

I fear there is some disaster — 

Your looks are so full of woe." 

" The news I bring, fair lady," 
Witli sorrowful accent said he, 
" Is one you are not ready 
So soon, alas ! to hear. 

" But since to speak I 'm hurried," 
Added this page quite flurried, 
"Malbrouck is dead and buried ! " 
— And here he shed a tear. 

" He 's dead ! he 's dead as a herring ! 
For I beheld his herring, 
And four officers transferring 

His corpse away from the field. 

'' One officer carried his sabre ; 
And he carried it not without labor, 
Much envying his next neighbor, 
Who only bore a shield. 

" The third was helmet-bearer — 
That helmet which on its wearer 
Filled all who saw with terror. 
And covered a hero's brains. 

" Now, having got so far, I 

Find, that — by tho Lord Harry ! — 

The fourth is left nothing to carry ; — 

So there the thing remains." 

ANOXYMOUfs. (French.) 
Trauslation of Fatueu Peodt. 



404 



POEMS or COMEDY. 



THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. 

An old song made by an aged old pate, 

Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a 

great estate, 
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful 

rate. 
And an old poller to relieve the poor at his 
gate ; 

Lihe an old courtier of the quee)i's, 
And the queeii's old courtier. 

With an old lady, whose anger one word as- 
suages ; 

They every quarter paid their old servants 
their wages. 

And never knew what belonged to coachmen, 
footmen, nor pages, 

But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats 
and badges ; 

Lilce an old courtier of the queen's, 
And the queen''s old courtier. 

With an old study filled full of learned old 

books ; 
With an old reverend chaplain — you might 

know him by his looks ; 
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the 

hooks ; 
And an old kitchen that maintained half a 

dozen old cooks ; 
Lilce an old courtier of the queen''s, 
And the queen''s old courtier. 

With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, 
and bows, 

With old swords and bucklers, that had borne 
many shrewd blows ; 

And an old frieze coat, to cover his Avorship's 
trunk hose, 

And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his cop- 
per nose ; 

Lihe an old courtier of the queen's, 
And the queeii's old courtier. 

With a good old fashion, when Christmas was 

come, 
To call in all his old neighbors with bagpipe 

and drum ; 



With good cheer enough to furnish every old 

room. 
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and 
man dumb ; 

Lilce an old courtier of the queen^s, 
And the queen''s old courtier. 

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel 
of hounds. 

That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his 
own grounds ; 

Who, like a wise man, kept himself within 
his own bounds. 

And when he dyed, gave every child a thou- 
sand good pounds ; 
Lilce an old courtier of the queen's, 
And the queen's old courtier. 

But to his eldest son his house and land he 

assigned. 
Charging him in his will to keep the old 

bountiful mind — 
To be good to his old tenants, and to hi? 

neighbors be kind : 
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how 

he was inclined, 

Lilce a young courtier of the Mng''s, 
And the Icing's young courtier. 

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come 
to his land. 

Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his 
command ; 

And takes up a thousand pound upon his fa- 
ther's land ; 

And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can nei- 
ther go nor stand ; 
Lilce a young courtier of the Hng''8, 
And the Mng^s young courtier. 

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, 

and spare. 
Who never knew what belonged to good 

housekeeping or care ; 
Who buys gaudy-colored fons to play with 

wanton air. 
And seven or eight different dressings of othei 

women's hair ; 

LiA-e a young courtier of the Mng''s, 
And the l'ing''s young courtier. 



AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. 



405 



With a new-fashioned liall, built where the 

old one stood, 
Hung round with new pictures, that do the 

poor no good ; 
With a line marble chimney, wherein burns 

neither coal nor wood ; 
And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no 

victuals ne'er stood ; 

Like a young courtier of the Icing's^ 
And the hinges young courtier. 

With a new study, stuft fell of pamphlets and 
plays ; 

And a new chaplain, that swears faster than 
he prays ; 

With a new buttery hatch, that opens once 
in four or iive days, 

Audi a new French cook, to devise fine kick- 
shaws, and toys ; 

Lilce a young courtier of the Icing^s, 
And the hinges young courtier. 

With a new fashion when Christmas is draw- 
ing on — 

On a new journey to London straight we all 
must be gone, 

And leave none to keep house, but our new 
porter John, 

Who relie\es the poor with a thump on the 
back with a stone ; 
Like a young courtier of the king''s, 
And the hinges young courtier. 



With a new gentleman usher, whose carriage 
is complete ; 

With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to 
carry up the meat ; 

With a waiting gentlewoman, whose dressing 
is very neat — 

Who, when her lady has dined, lets the ser- 
vants not eat ; 
Like a young courtier of the king^s, 
And the king^s young courtier. 



With now titles of honor bought with his 

father's old gold. 
For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors 

are sold : 



And this is the course most of our new gal- 
lants hold. 
Which makes that good housekeeping is now 
grown so cold 

Among tlicyoxmg courtiers of the king^ 
Or the king''s young courtiers. 

Anont-mous. 



AX ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A 
MAD DOG. 

Good people all, of every sort. 

Give ear unto my song ; 
And if you find it wond'rous shoii; 

It cannot hold you long. 

In Islington there was a man. 
Of whom the world might say 

That still a godly race he ran 
Whene'er he went to pray. 

A kind and gentle heart he had. 

To comfort friends and foes ; 
The naked every day he clad, 

T\^hen he put on his clothes. 

And in that town a dog was found, 

As many dogs there be, 
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 

And curs of low degree. 

This dog and man at first were friends ; 

But when a pique began. 
The dog, to gain his private ends. 

Went mad, and bit the man. 

Around from all the neighboring streets 
Tlie wandering neighbors ran, 

And swore the dog had lost his wits. 
To bite so good a man. 

The wound it seemed both sore and sad 

To every Christian eye : 
And while they swore the dog was mad, 

They swore the man would die. 

But soon a wonder came to light, 
That showed the rogues they lied : 

The man recovered of the bite, 
The dog it was that died. 

Oliver Goldshith. 



406 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE EAPE OF THE LOCK. 

Al^ nEEOI-COMICAL POEM. 

Nolucrain, Belinda, tuos violarc capillos; 
Sed.iuvat hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis. — Makt. 

CA3s"ro I. 

What dire otfence from amorous causes 

springs, 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, 
I sing — This verse to Caryl, muse ! is due ; 
This, e'en Belinda may vouchsafe to view : 
Slight is the subject, but not so tlie praise, 
If she inspire, and he approve my lays. 
Suy what strange motive, goddess! could 

compel 
A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle ? 
Oh, say what stranger cause, yet unexplored, 
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord ? 
In tasks so bold can little men engage. 
And in soft bosoms dwell such mighty rage ? 
Sol through white curtains shot a timorous 

ray, 
And ope'd those eyes that must eclipse the 

day. 
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing 

shake, 
And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake; 
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked the 

ground, 
And the pressed watch returned a silver 

sound. 
Belinda still her downy pillow prest — 
Her guardian sylph prolonged the balmy rest ; 
'T was he had summoned to her silent bed 
Tlie morning-dream that hovered o'er her 

head : 
A youth more glittering than a birthnight 

beau, 
(That e'en in slumber caused her cheek to 

glow,) 
Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay. 
And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say : 
" Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished care 
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air! 
If e'er one vision touched thy infant thought 
Of all the nurse and all the priest have 

taught, 
Of airy elves by moonlight-shadows seen, 
riie silver token, and the circled green ; 



Or virgins visited by angel powers 

With golden crowns and wreaths of heavenly 

flowers — 
Hear and believe I thy own importance 

know, 
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below. 
Some secret truths, from learned pride con- 
cealed, 
To maids alone and children are revealed; 
What though no credit doubting wits may 

give? 
The fair and innocent shall still believe. 
Know, then, unnumbered spirits round thee 

fly- 
The light militia of the lower sky, 
These, though unseen, are ever on the wing, 
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the ring. 
Think what an equipage thou hast in air, 
And view with scorn two pages and a chair. 
As now your own, our beings were of old, 
And once enclosed in woman's beauteous 

mould ; 
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair 
From earthly vehicles to these of air. 
Think not, when, woman's transient breath is 

fled. 
That all her vanities at once are dead ; 
Succeeding vanities she still regards, 
And, though she plays no more, o'erlooks the 

cards. 
Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive, 
And love of ombre, after death survive ; 
For when the fair in all their pride expire, 
To their first elements their souls retire; 
The sprites of fiery termagant in flan>e 
Mount up, and take a salamander's name; 
Soft yielding minds to water glide away, 
And sip, witli nymphs, their elemental tea; 
The graver prude siidis downward to a 

gnome 
In search of mischief still on earth to roam ; 
The light coquettes in sylphs aloft repair, 
And sport and flutter in the fields of air. 
"Know further yet; Avhoever fair and 

chaste 
Eejects mankind, is by some sylph embraced : 
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease 
Assume what sexes and what shapes thej 

please. 
What guards the purity of melting maids. 
In courtly balls and midnight masquerades, 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



407 



Safe from the treacherous friend, the daring 

spark, 
Tlie ghmce by day, the '.vhisper in the dark — 
When kind occask'U prompts their warm de- 
sires, 
Wlien music softens, and when dancing fires? 
'T is but their sylph, the wise celestials know. 
Though honor is the word with men below. 
" Some nymphs there are, too conscious of 
their face. 
For life predestined to the gnome's embrace ; 
These swell their prospects and exalt their 

pride. 
When offers are disdained, and love denied; 
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain. 
While peers, and dukes, and all their sweep- 
ing train, 
And garters, stars, and coronets appear. 
And in soft sounds, 'Yonr grace,' salutes 

their ear. 
'T is these that early taint the female soul, 
Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll ; 
Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to know, 
And little hearts to flutter at a beau. 

"Oft when the world imagine women 
stra}', 
The sylphs tlirough mystic mazes guide their 

way ; 
Through all the giddy circle they pursue, 
And old impertinence expel by new. 
What tender maid but must a victim fall 
To one man's treat, but for another's ball ? 
When Florio speaks, what virgin could with- 
stand, 
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand ? 
With varying vanities from every part 
They shift the moving toy -shop of their heart ; 
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots 

sword-knots strive,* 
IJeaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches 

drive. 
This erring mortals levity may call — 
Oh, blind to truth ! the sylphs contrive it all. 
" Of these am I, who thy protection claim ; 
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. 
Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air, 
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star, 
I saw, alas ! some dread event impend, 
Ere to the main this morning's sun descend ; 
But heaven reveals not what, or how, or 
where : 



Warned by the sylph, O pious maid, beware ! 
This to disclose is all thy guardian can ; 
Beware of all, but most beware of man ! " 
He said ; when Shock, who thought she 

slept too long. 
Leaped up, and waked his mistress Avith his 

tongue. 
'T was then, Belinda, if report say true. 
Thy eyes first opened on a billet-doux; 
Wounds, charms, and ardors, were no sooner 

read. 
But all the vision vanished from tl;y head. 
And now, unveiled, the toilet stands dis- 
played, M 
Each silver tase in mystic order laid. 
First, robed in white, the nymph intent 

adores, 
With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers. 
A heavenly image in the glass appears — 
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; 
Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side. 
Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. 
Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here 
The Tarious offerings of the world appear ; 
From each she nicely culls with curious toil. 
And decks the goddess Avith the glittering 

spoih 
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, 
And all Arabia breathes from j'onder box. 
The tortoise here, and elephant unite, 
Transformed to combs — the speckled, and the 

white. 
Here files of pins extend their shining rows; 
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux. 
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms ; 
The fair each moment rises in her charms, 
Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, 
And calls forth all the wonders of her face ; 
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, 
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. 
The busy sylphs surround their darling care, 
These set the head, and these divide the hair; 
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the 

gown ; 
And Betty 's praised for labors not her own, 

CAXTO II. 

Not with more glories, in the ethereal plain, 
The sun first rises o'er the purpled main, 
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams 
Launched on the bosom of the silver Thames 



408 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Fair nymphs and well-dressed youths around 
her shone, 

But every eye was fixed on her alone. 

On her white hreast a sparkling cross she 
wore, 

Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore ; 

Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose — 

Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those ; 

Favo-rs to none, to all she smiles extends ; 

Oft she rejects, hut never once offends. 

Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike ; 

And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 

Yet graceful ease, and SAveetness void of 
pride, 

Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to 
hide: 

If to her share some female errors fall, 

Look on her fiice, and you '11 forget them all. 
This nymph, to the destruction of man- 
kind, 

Nourished two locks, which graceful hung 
behind 

In equal curls, and well conspired to deck 

With shining ringlets the smooth, ivory neck. 

Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains. 

And miglity hearts are held in slender 
chains. 

With hairy springes we the birds betray ; 

Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey ; 

Fair tresses man's imperial race iusnare, 

And beauty draws us with a single hair. 
Th' adventurous baron the bright locks 
admired ; 

lie saw, he wished, and to the prize aspired. 

Resolved to win, he meditates the way. 

By force to ravish, or by fraud betray ; 

For when success a lover's toil attends. 

Few ask if fraud or force attained his ends. 
For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had im- 
plored 

Propitious heaven, and every power adored ; 

But chiefly love — to love an altar built. 

Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. 

There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves. 

And all the trophies of his former loves ; 

Witli tender billet-doux he lights the pyre. 

And breathes three amorous sighs to raise 
the fire. 

Tlien prostrate falls, and begs with ardent 
eyes 

Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize. 



The powers gave ear, and granted half his 

prayer ; 
The rest the winds dispersed in empty air. 
But now secure the painted vessel glides, 
The sunbeams trembling on the floating tides ; 
While melting music steals upon the sky, 
And softened sounds along the waters die : 
Smooth flow the waves, the zejAyrs gently 

play, 

Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay. 
All but the sylph — with careful thoughts op- 

prest, 
Th' impending woe sat heavy on his breast. 
He summons straight his denizens of air ; 
The lucid squadrons round the sails repair; 
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe. 
That seemed but zephyrs to the train be- 
neath. 
Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold, 
Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold. 
Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight, 
Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light ; 
Loose to the Avind their airy garments flew — • 
Thin, glittering textures of the filmy dew. 
Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies. 
Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes ; 
While every beam new transient colors 

flings. 
Colors that change whene'er they wave 

their wings. 
Amid the circle, on the gilded mast, 
Superior by the head, was Ariel placed; 
His purple pinions opening to the sun. 
He raised his azure wand, and thus begun : 
"Ye sylphs and sylphids, to your chief 



give ear 



Fays, fairies, genii, elves, and demons, hear! 

Ye know the spheres and various tasks as- 
signed 

By laws eternal to the aerial kind: 

Some in the fields of purest ether play, 

And bask and whiten in the blaze of day; 

Some guide the course of wandering orbs on 
high. 

Or roll the planets through the boundless 
sky; 

Some, less refined, beneath the moon's pale 
light 

Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night. 

Or suck the mists in grosser air below, 

Or dip their pinions in the painted bow, 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



40S 



Or brew fierce tempests on the Avintry main, 
Or o'er the glebe distill the kindly rain ; 
Others, on earth, o'er human race preside, 
"Watch all their ways, and all their actions 

guide : 
Of these the chief the care of nations own, 
And guard with arms divine the British 
throne. 
" Our humbler province is to tend the fair, 
Kot a less pleasing, though less glorious care ; 
To save the powder from too rude a gale. 
Nor let th' imprisoned essences exhale ; 
To draw fresh colors from the vernal flow- 
ers; 
To steal from rainbows, ere they drop in 

showers, 
A brighter wash ; to curl their waving hairs, 
Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs ; 
Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow. 
To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. 
" This day black omens threat the bright- 
est fair 
That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care ; 
Some dire disaster, or by force or slight ; 
But what, or where, the fates have wrapped 

in night — 
Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law. 
Or some frail china jar receive a flaw ; 
Or stain her honor, or her new brocade ; 
Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade ; 
Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball ; 
Or whether heaven has doomed that Shock 

must fall — 
Haste, then, ye spirits ! to your charge re- 
pair: 
The fluttering fan be Zephyretta's care ; 
The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign ; 
And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine ; 
Do thou, Crispissa, tend her favorite lock ; 
Ariel himself sliall be the guard of Shock. . 

"To fifty chosen sylphs, of special note. 
We trust the important charge, the petti- 
coat — 
Oft have we known that seven-fold fence to 

fail. 
Though stiff" with hoops, and armed with ribs 

of whale — 
Form a strong line about the silver bound. 
And guard the wide circumference around. 
"Whatever spirit, careless of his charge. 
His post neglect-, or leaves the fair at lariie, 
56 



Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his 

sins. 
Be stopped in vials, or transfixed with pins ; 
Or plunged in lakes of bitter Avashes lie, 
Or wedged whole ages in a bodkin's eye ; 
Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain, 
While clogged he beats his silken Avin-rs in 



vain: 



Or alum styptics with contracting power 
Shrink his thin essence like a rivaled floAver; 
Or, as Ixion fixed, the Avretch shall feel 
The giddy motion of the Avhirling mill ; 
In fumes of burning chocolate shall gloAA', 
And tremble at the sea that froths beloAv ! " 
He spoke; the spirits from the sails de- 
scend ; 
Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend ; 
Some thread the mazy ringlets of her hair ; 
Some hang upon the pendants of her ear; 
"With beating hearts the dire event they Avait, 
Anxious, and trembling for the birth of fate. 

CANTO III. 

Close by those meads, for CA^er croAvned Avith 

floAvers, 
"Where Thames with pride surveys his rising 

towers. 
There stands a structure of majestic frame. 
Which from the neighboring Hampton takes 

its name. 
Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom 
Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home ; 
Here, thou, great Anna ! whom three realms 

obey. 
Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes 

tea. 
Hither tlie heroes and the nymphs resort, 
To taste awhile the pleasures of a court; 
In various talk the instructive hours tliey past: 
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last ; 
One speaks the glory of the British queen ; 
And one describes a charming Indian screen; 
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes — 
At every woi-d a reputation dies ; 
Snuff", or the fan, supply each pause of chat. 
With singing, laughing, ogling, and all tliat. 
Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day. 
The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray ; 
The hungry judges soon the sentence sign. 
And Avretches hang that jurymen may dine; 



410 



POEMS OF COMEDY 



The mercliant from the Exchange returns in 

peaoe, 
And tlie long labors of the toilet cease. 
Belin,(]a now, whom thirst of fame invites, 
Burns to encounter two adventurous knights 
At ombre singly to decide their doom, 
And swells her breast with conquests yet to 

come. 
Straight the three bands prepare in arms to 

join. 
Each band the number of the sacred nine. 
Soon as she spreads her haud,the aerial guard 
Descend, and sit on each important card : 
First Ariel perched upon a matadore. 
Then each according to the rank they bore ; 
Eor sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race, 
Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place. 

Behold ; four kings in majesty revered. 
With hoary whiskers and a forky beard ; 
And four fair queens, Avhose hands sustain a 

flower. 
The expressive emblem of their softer power ; 
Four knaves, in garbs succinct, a trusty band, 
Caps oa their lieads, and halberts in their 

hand; 
And parti-colored troops, a shining train. 
Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain. 
The skilful nymph reviews her force with 

care ; 
" Let spades be trumps ! " she said, and 

trumps they Avere. 
Now move to war her sable matadores, 
In show like leaders ,of the swarthy Moors. 
Spadillio first, unconquerable lord ! 
Led off two captive trumps, and swept the 

board. 
As many more Manillio forced to yield. 
And marched a victor from the verdant field. 
Him Basto followed, but his fate more hard 
Gained but one trump and one plebeian card. 
With his broad sabre next, a chief in years. 
The hoary majesty of spades appears. 
Puts forth one manly leg, to sight revealed, 
The rest his many-colored robe concealed. 
The rebel knave, who dares his prince en- 
gage. 
Proves the just victim of his royal rage. 
E'en mighty Pam, that kings and queens o'cr- 

threw. 
And mowed down armies in the fights of 

loo. 



Sad chance of war ! now destitute of aid, 
Falls undistinguished by the victor spade ! 

Thus far both armies to Belinda yield ; 
Now to the baron fate inclines the field. 
His warlike amazon her host invades, 
The imperial consort of the crown of spades. 
The club's black tyrant first her victim died, 
Sj)ite of his haughty mien and barbarous 

pride : 
What boots the regal circle on his head. 
His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread — 
That long behind he trails his pompous robe. 
And, of all monarchs, only grasps the globe ? 
The baron now his diamonds pours apace : 
The embroidered king who shows but half his 

face. 
And his refulgent queen, with powers com- 
bined, 
Of broken troops an easy conquest find. 
Clubs, diamonds, hearts, in wild disorder 

seen. 
With throngs promiscuous strew the level 

green. 
Thus when dispersed a routed army runs, 
Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons — 
With like confusion difl'erent nations tly. 
Of various habit, and of vai'ious dye ; 
The pierced battalions disunited fall 
In heaps on heaps — one fate o'erwhelmsthem 

all. 
The knave of diamonds tries his Avily arts, 
And Avins (oh, shameful chance !) the queen 

of hearts. 
At this the blood the virgin's cheek forsook, 
A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look ; 
She sees, and trembles at the approaching ill, 
Just in the jaws of ruin, and codille. 
And noAv (as oft in some distempered state) 
On one nice trick depends the general fate : 
An ace of hearts steps forth ; the king unseen 
Lurked in her hand, and mourned his captive 

queen ; 
He springs to vengeance Avith an eager p;ice. 
And falls like thunder on the prostrate ace. 
The nymph, exulting, fills Avith shouts the 

sky; 
The Avails, the Avoods, and long canals reply. 
O thoughtless mortals ! ever blind to fate, 
Too soon dejected, and too soon elate ! 
Sudden these honors shall be snatched aAvay, 
And cursed for ever this victoriov:s day. 



THE RATE OF THE LOCK, 



41] 



For lo ! the board with cnps and spoons is 
crowned ; 
Tlic berries crackle, and the mill turns round ; 
On shilling altars of japan they raise 
The silver lamp; the tiery spirits blaze; 
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide, 
"While China's earth receives the smoking tide. 
At onco they gratify their scent and taste,' 
And frequent cups prolong the rich repast. 
Straight hover round the fair her airy baud : 
Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned ; 
Some o'er her lap their careful plumes dis- 
played, 
Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade. 
Coffee (which makes the politician wise. 
And see through all things with his half-shut 

eyes) 
Sent up in vapors to the baron's brain 
New stratagems, the radiant lock to gain. 
Ah cease, rash youth ! desist ere 't is too late; 
Fear the just gods, and think of Scylla's fate! 
Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air, 
She dearly pays for Nisus' injured hair! 
But Avhen to mischief mortals bend their 
will. 
How soon they tind fit instruments of ill ! 
Just then, Clarissa drew Avith tempting grace 
A two-edged weapon from her shining case : 
So ladies, in romance, assist their knight — 
Present the spear and arm him for the fight. 
lie takes the gift with reverence, and extends 
The little engine on- his fingers' ends; 
This just behind Belinda's neck he spread. 
As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her 

Lead. 
Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair, 
A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the 

hair ; 
And thrice they twitclied the diamond in her 

ear ; 
Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe 

drew near. 
Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought 
The close recesses of the virgin's thought : 
As on the nosegay in her breast reclined, 
lie watched the ideas rising in her mind. 
Sudden he viewed, in spite of all her art. 
An earthly lover lurking at lier heart. 
Amazed, confused, he found his power ex- 
pired, 
Re^igned to fate, and with a sigh retired. 



The peer now spreads the glittering forfcx 

wide, 
T' enclose the lock ; now joins it, to divide. 
E'en then, before the fatal engine closed, 
A wretched sylph too fondly interi)osed; 
Fate urged the shears, and cut the sylph in 

twain, 
(But airy substance soon unites again :) 
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever 
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever ! 
Then flashed the living lightning from her 

eyes, 
And screams of horror rend the affrighted 

skies. 
Xot louder shrieks to pitying Heaven are 

cast 
"When husbands, or when lapdogs, breathe 

their last ; 
Or when rich china vessels, fallen from high, 
In glittering dust and painted fragments lie! 
"Let wreaths of triumph now my temples 

twine," 
The victor cried " the glorious prize is mine ! 
"While fish in streams, or birds delight in air ; 
Or in a coach and six the British fair ; 
As long as Atalantis shall be read. 
Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed ; 
"While visits shall be paid on solemn days, 
"When numerous wax-lights in bright order 

blaze ; 
"While nymphs take treats, or assignations 

give. 
So long my honor, name, and praise shall 

live ! 
"What time would spare, from steel receives 

its date ; 
And monuments, like men, submit to fate ! 
Steel could the labor of the gods destroy. 
And strike to dust the imperial towers of 

Troy; 
Steel could the w^orks of mortal pride con- 
found. 
And hew triumphal arches to the ground. 
"What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs 

should feel 
The conquering force of unresisted steel ? " 



But anxious cares the pensive nymph opprest, 
And secret passions labored in her breast. 



412 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Not youtliful kings in battle seized alive ; 
Not scornful virgins vrho their charms survive ; 
Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss; 
Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss ; 
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die ; 
Not Cynthia when her raantua's pinned 

awry, 
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, 
As thou, sad virgin ! for thy ravished hair. 
For, that sad moment, when the sylphs 
withdrew, 
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, 
[Jmbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, 
As ever sullied the fair face of light, 
Down to the central earth, his proper scene, 
Eepaired to search the gloomy cave of Spleen. 

Swift on his sooty pinions flits the gnome, 
And in a vapor reached the dismal dome. 
No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows; 
The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. 
Here in a grotto sheltered close from air. 
And screened in shades from day's detested 

glare. 
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, 
Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head. 
Two handmaids wait tlie throne ; alike in 
place, 
But diflfering far in figure and in face. 
Here stood Ill-nature, like an ancient maid. 
Her wrinkled form in black and white ar- 
rayed ; 
AVith store of prayers for mornings, nights, 

and noons, 
Her hand is filled ; her bosom with lampoons. 
There Afifectation with a sickly mien, 
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen ; 
Practised to lisp, and hang the head aside, 
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride; 
On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, 
Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show — 
The fair ones feel such maladies as these. 
When each new night-dress gives a new dis- 
ease. 
A constant vapor o'er the palace flies ; 
Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise — 
Dreadful, as hermits' dreams in haunted 

shades. 
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids. 
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling 

spires. 
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires ; 



Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes. 
And crystal domes, and angels in machines. 
Unnumbered throngs on every side are 
seen, 
Of bodies changed to various forms by Spleen. 
Here living teapots stand, one arm held out, 
One bent — the handle this, and that the spout; 
A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod walks ; 
Here sighs ajar, and there a goose-pie talks; 
Men prove with child, as powerful fancy 

works ; 
And maids, turned bottles, call aloud for 
corks. 
Safe passed the gnome through this fantastic 
band, 
A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. 
Then thus addressed the power — " Hail, way- 
ward queen ! 
Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen ; 
Parent of vapors and of female wit. 
Who give the hysteric or poetic fit, 
On various tempers act by various ways. 
Make some take physic, others scribble plays ; 
Who cause the proud their visits to delay. 
And send the godly in a pet to pray. 
A nymph there is that all your power dis- 
dains. 
And thousands more in equal mirth maintains. 
But oh ! if e'er thy gnome could spoil a grace, 
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face. 
Like citron-waters matrons' cheeks inflame, 
Or change complexions at a losing game — 
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads, 
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds. 
Or caused suspicion when no soul was rude, 
Or discomposed the headdress of a prude, 
Or e'er to costive lapdog gave disease, 
AVhich not the tears of brightest eyes could 

ease — 
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin ; 
That single act gives half the world the 
spleen." 
The goddess, with a discontented air. 
Seems to reject him, though she grants his 

prayer. 
A wondrous bag Avith both her hands she 

binds. 
Like that when once Ulysses held the winds; 
There she collects the force of female lungs, 
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of 
tongues. 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



413 



A vial next she fills ■with fainting fears, 
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. 
The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, 
Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts 

to day. 
Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he 

found. 
Her eye dejected, and her hair unboimd. 
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he 

rent. 
And all the furies issued at the vent, 
Belinda burns Avith more than mortal ire, 
And fierce. Tlialestris fans the rising fire. 
" O wretched maid ! " she spread her hands 

and cried, 
(While Hampton's echoes, " Wretched maid," 

replied,) 
" Was it for this you took such constant care 
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare? 
For this your locks in paper durance bound? 
For this with torturing irons wreathed 

around ? 
For this with fillets strained your tender 

head? 
And bi'avely bore the double loads of lead ? 
Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair. 
While the fops envy, and the ladies stare ? 
Honor forbid ! at whose unrivalled shrine 
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. 
Methinks already I your tears survey, 
Already hear the horrid things they say ; 
Already see you a degraded toast, 
And all your honor in a whisper lost ! 
How shall I, then, your hapless fame defend? 
'T will then be infamy to seem your friend ! 
And shall this prize, the inestimable prize, 
Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes. 
And heightened by the diamond's circling 

rays. 
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze ? 
Sooner shall grass in Hyde park circus grow, 
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow ; 
Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, 
Men, monkeys, lapdogs, parrots, perish all ! " 
She said; then, raging, to Sir Plume re- 
pairs. 
And bids her beau demand the precious hairs. 
Sir Plume, of amber snuflP-box justly vain. 
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane, 
With earnest eyes, and round, unthinking face, 
He first the snutf-box opened, then the case. 



And thus broke out — "My lord, why, what 

the devil ! 
Z — ds ! damn the lock ! 'fere Gad, you must 

be civil! 
Plague on't! 'tis pasta jest — nay, prithee, 

pox! 
Give her the hair." — He spoke, and rapped 

his box. 
"It grieves me much (replied the i)ecr 

again) 
Who speaks so well should ever speak in 

vain ; 
But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear, 
(Which never more shall join its parted hair ; 
Which never more its honors shall renew, 
Clipped from the lovely head where late it 

grew,) 
That, while my nostrils draw the vital air, 
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear." 
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph 

spread 
The long-contended honors of her head. 
But Umbriel, hateful gnome, forbears not 

so; 
He breaks the vial whence the sorrows floAV. 
Then see ! the nymph in beauteous grief ap- 
pears, 
Her eyes half-languishing, half drowned in 

tears ; 
On her heaved bosom hung her drooping 

head. 
Which with a sigh she raised, and thus she 

said: 
"For ever cursed be this detested day, 
Which snatched my best, my favorite curl 

away ; 
Happy ! ah ten times happy had I been, 
If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen ! 
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid. 
By love of courts to numerous ills betrayed. 
Oh had I rather unadmired remained 
In some lone isle, or distant northern land ; 
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way. 
Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste 

bohea ! 
There kept my charms concealed from mortal 

.eye. 
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die. 
What moved my mind with youthful lords to 

roam ? 
Oh had I stayed, and said my prayers at home ! 



41-1 



POEMS OF COMEDY 



'T was this the morning omens seemed to tell, 
Tliri<;e from my trembling hand tbe patchbox 

fell; 
The tottering china shook without a wind, 
"NTay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most un- 
kind! 
A sylph, too, warned me of the threats of 

fate, 
In mystic visions, now believed too late ! 
See the poor remnant of these slighted liairs ! 
My hands shall rend what e'en thy rapine 

spares : 
These in two sable ringlets taught to break. 
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck ; 
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone. 
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own ; 
Uncurled i-t hangs, the fatal shears demands. 
And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands. 
Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize 
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these ! " 

CANTO X. 

She said: the pitying audience melt in tears; 
But Fate and Jove had stopped the baron's 

ears. 
Til vain Thalestris with reiu-oach assails. 
For who can move when fair Belinda fails? 
Not half so fixed the Trojan could remain, 
"While Anna begged and Dido raged in vain. 
Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan ; 
'Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began : 
"Say, why are beaiities praised and hon- 
ored most, 
The wise man's passion, and the vain man's 

toast ? 
Why decked with all that land and sea alFord? 
Why angels called, and angel-like adored? 
Why round our coaches crowd the Avhite- 

gloved beaux ? 
Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows? 
How vain are all these glories, all our pains. 
Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains ; 
That men may say, when we the front-box 

grace, 
Behold the first in virtue as in face ! 
Oh ! if to dance all night, and dress all day, 
Charmed the small-pox, or chased old age 

away, 
Who would not scorn what housewife's cares 

produce, 
Or who would learn one earthly thing of use? 



To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint ; 
Nor could it, sure, be such a sin to paint. 
But since, alas! frail beauty must decay; 
Curled or uncurled, since locks will turn to 

gray ; 
Smce painted, or not painted, all shall fade. 
And she who scorns a man must die a maid; 
"What then remains, but well our power to 

use. 
And keep good humor still, whate'er Ave lose? 
And trust me, dear, good humor can prevail, 
"When airs, and flights, and screams, and 

scolding fail. 
Beauties in vain their pretty eyee may roll — 
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the 

soul." 
So spoke the dame, but no applause ensued ; 
Belinda frowned, Thalestris called her prude. 
"To arms, to arms!" the fierce virago cries. 
And swift as lightning to the combat flies. 
All side in parties, and begin the attack ; 
Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebtmes 

crack ; 
Heroes' and heroines' shouts confusedly rise. 
And bass and treble voices strike the skies. 
No common weapons in their hands arc 

found — 
Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal 

wound. 
So when bold Homer makes the gods en- 

And heavenly breasts with human passions 

rage ; 
'Gainst Pallas ilars; Latona Hermes arms ; 
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms ; 
Jove's thunder roars, -heaven trembles all 

around, 
Blue Nc-ptune storms, the bellowing deeps re- 
sound ; 
Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground 

gives way. 
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day! 
Triumphant Umbriel, on a sconce's height, 
Clapped his glad wings, and sat to view the 

fight ; 
Propped on their bodkin-spears, the sprites 

survey 
The growing combat, or assist the fray. 
"While through the jjress enraged Thalestris 

flies. 
And scatters death around from both her eyes, 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK, 



415 



A. beau and witling perished in the throng — 
One died in metaphor, and one in song :, 
"0 cruel nymph! a living death I bear,'' 
Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair, 
A mournful glance Sir Fophng upward cast, 
"Those eyes are made so killing" — was his 

last. 
Thus on Mtcander's flowery margin lies 
The expiring swan, and as he sings he dies. 
"When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa 
dowu, 
Chloe stepped in, and killed him with a frown; 
She smiled to see the doughty hero slain, 
But at her smile the beau revived again. 

Now Jove suspends his golden scales iu air, 
"Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair; 
The doubtful beam long nods from side to 

side ; 
At length the wits mount up, the hairs sub- 
side. 
See, fierce Belinda on the baron flies. 
With more than usual lightning iu her eyes; 
Nor feared the chief th' unequal fight to try, 
Vr'ho sought no more than on his foe to die. 
But this bold lord, with manly strength en- 
dued, 
She with one finger and a thumb subdued : 
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, 
A charge of snufl:'the wily virgin threw; 
The gnomes direct, to every atom just, 
The pungent grains of titillating dust. 
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows, 
And the high dome reechoes to his nose. 
"Now meet thy fiite ! " incensed Belinda 
cried, 
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. 
(The same, his ancient personage to deck, 
Iler great-great-grandsire wore about his neck, 
In three seal-rings ; which after, melted 

down, 
Formed a vast buckle for his widow's gown; 
Her infant grandame's Avhistle next it grew — 
The bells she jingled, and the Avhistle blew; 
Then in a bodkin graced her mother's hairs, 
Which long she wore, and now Belinda 
wears.) 
"Boast not my fall (he cried), insulting 
foe! 
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low ; 
Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind ; 
All that I dread is leaving you behind ! 



Rather than so, ah let me still survive. 
And burn in Cupid's flames — but burn alive." 
"Restore the lock!" she cries; and all 

around 
"Restore the lock!" the vaulted roofs re- 
bound. 
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain 
Roared for the handkerchief tliat caused his 

pain. 
But see how oft ambitious aims are crossed. 
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost ! 
The lock, obtained with guilt, and kept with 

pain. 
In every place is sought, but sought in vain; 
With such a prize no mortal must be blest. 
So heaven decrees! with heaven who can 

contest? 
Some thought it mounted to the lunar 

sphere. 
Since all things lost on earth are treasured 

there ; 
There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous 

vases, 
And beaux' in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases; 
There broken vows, and deathbed alms are 

found. 
And lovers' hearts with ends of ribbon bound, 
Tlie courtiers promises, and sick men's 

prayers. 
The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea, 
Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. 

But trust the Muse — she saw it upward rise, 
Though marked by none but quick poetic 

eyes: 
(So Rome's great founder to the heavens 

withdrew, 
To Proculus alone confessed iu view ;) 
A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, 
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. 
Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, 
The heavens bespangling with dish-evelled 

light. 
The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, 
And, pleased, pursue its progress through the 

skies. 
This the beau monde sliaH from the Mai] 

survey. 
And hail with music its propitious ray ; 
This the blest lover shall for "Venus take, 
And send up vovrs from Rosamonda's lake ; 



416 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless 
skies 

"When next he looks through Galileo's eyes ; 

And hence the egregious wizard shall fore- 
doom 

The fate of Louis, and the fall of Eome. 
Then cease, bright nymph ! to mourn thy 
ravished hair, 

Which adds new glory to the shining sphere! 

Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, 

Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost. 

For after all the murders of your eye. 

When, after millions slain, yourself shall die ; 

When those fiiir suns shall set, as set they 
must, 

And all those tresses shall be laid in dust — 

This lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame. 

And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name. 
Alexander Pope. 



THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN 
GILPIN, 

SHOWING HOW HE WENT FAETHEE THAN HE 
INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN. 

John Gilpin was a citizen 

Of credit and renown ; 
A trainband captain eke was he. 

Of famous London town. 

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear — 
" Though wedded we have been 

These twice ten tedious years, yet we 
No holiday have seen. 

"To-morrow is our wedding day. 

And we will then repair 
Unto the Bell at Edmonton 

All in a chaise and pair. 

" My sister, and my sister's child, 

Myself, and children three. 
Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride 

On horseback after we." 

He soon replied, " I do admire 

Of womankind but one. 
And you are she, my dearest dear ; 

Therefore it shall be done. 



" I am a linendraper bold, 

As all the world doth know ; 
And my good friend, the calender. 

Will lend his horse to go." 

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, " That's well said; 

And, for that wine is dear, 
We will be furnished with our own. 

Which is both bright and clear." 

John Gilpin kissed his loving wife ; 

O'erjoyed was he to find 
That, though on pleasure she was bent. 

She had a frugal mind. 

The morning came, the chaiss was brought. 

But yet was not allowed 
To drive up to the door, lest all 

Should say that she was proud. 

So three doors off the chaise was stayed 

Where they did all get in — 
Six precious souls, and all agog 

To dash through thick and thin. 

Smack went the whip, round wer. Ti.o 
wheels — 

Were never folks so glad ; 
The stones did rattle underneath. 

As if Cheapside were mad. 

John Gilpin at his horse's side 

Seized fast the flowing mane. 
And up he got, in haste to ride — 

But soon came down again : 

For saddletree scarce reached had he, 

His journey to begin, 
When, turning round his head, he saw 

Three customers come in. 

So down he came : for loss of time, 

Although it grieved him sore, 
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, 

Would trouble him much more. 

'T was long before the customers 

Were suited to their mind; 
When Betty, screaming, came down stairs — ■ 

" The wine is left behind ! " 



THE HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 



41"; 



" Good lack ! " quoth he — " yet briug it me, 

My leathern belt likewise, 
In which I bear my trusty sword 

"When I do exercise." 

Now ISIistress Gilpin (careful soul !) 

Had two stone bottles found. 
To hold the liquor that she loved, 

And keep it safe and sound. 

Each bottle had a curling ear, 
Through which the belt he drew. 

And hung a bottle on each side, ; 
To make his balance true. 

Then over all, that he might be 

Equipped from top to toe, 
His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, 

He manfully did throw. 

Now see him mounted once again 

Upon his nimble steed. 
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones. 

With caution and good heed. 

But finding soon a smoother road 

Beneath his well shod feet, 
The snorting beast began to trot, 

AVhich galled him in his seat. 

So, " Fair and softly," John he cried, 

But John he cried in vain ; 
That trot became a gallop soon. 

In spite of curb and rein. 

So stooping down, as needs he must 

Who cannot sit upright. 
He grasped the mane with both his hands, 

And eke with all his might. 

[lis horse, who never in that sort 

Had handled been before, 
What thing upon his back had got 

Did wonder more and more. 

A.way went Gilpin, neck or nought; 

Away went hat and wig ; 
lie little dreamt, when he set out. 

Of running such a rig. 

The wind did blow — the cloak did fly, 

Like streamer long and gay ; 
Till, loop and button failing both, 

At last it ilew awav. 
'57 



Then might all people well discern 

The bottles he had slung — 
A bottle swinging at each side. 

As hath been said or sung. 

The dogs did bark, the children screamed, 

Up flew the windows all ; 
And every soul cried out, " Well done ! " 

As loud as he could bawl. 

Away went Gilpin — who but he ? 

His fame soon spread around — 
"He carries weight ! he rides a race ! 

' Tis for a thousand pound!" 

And still as fast as he drew near, 

' Twas wonderful to view 
How in a trice the turnpike men 

Their gates wide open threw. 

And now, as he went bowing down 

His reeking head full low, 
The bottles twain behind his back 

Were shattered at a blow. 

Down ran the wine into the road, 

Most piteous to be seen, 
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke 

As they had basted been. 

But still he seemed to carry weight, 

With leathern girdle braced ; 
For all might see the bottle necks 

Still dangling at his waist. 

Thus all through merry Islington 

These gambols did he play. 
Until he came unto the Wash 

Of Edmonton so gay ; 

And there he threw the wash about 

On both sides of the way, 
Just like unto a trundling moj), 

Or a w^ild goose at play. 

At Edmonton his loving wife 

From the balcony spied 
Her tender husband, wondering much 

To see how he did ride. 

" Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! here 's the honsei, 

They all at once did cry ; 
" The dinner waits, and we are tired : " 

Said Gilpin—" So am I ! " 



418 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



But yet his horse was not a wliit 

Inclined to tarry there ; 
For why ? — liis owner had a house 

Full ten miles off, at Ware. 

So like an arrow swift he flew, 

Shot by an archer strong; 
So did he fly — which brings me to 

Tlie middle of my song. 

Away went Gilpin out of breath, 

And sore against his will. 
Till at his friend the calender's 

His horse at last stood still. 

The calender, amazed to see 

His neighbor in such trim, 
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate. 

And thus accosted him : 

"What news ? what news? your tidings tell ; 

Tell me you must and shall — 
Say why bareheaded you are come. 

Or why you come at all ? " 

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 

And loved a timely joke ; 
And thus unto the calender 

In merry guise he spoke : 

" I came because your horse would come ; 

And, if I well forebode, 
My hat and wig will soon be here, 

They are upon the road." 

The calender, right glad to find 

His friend in merry pin, 
Returned him not a single word. 

But to the house went in ; 

"Whence straight he came with hat and wig : 

A wig that flowed behind, 
A hat not much the worse for v/ear — 

Each comely in its kind. 

He held tliem up, and in his turn 

Thus showed his ready wit — 
" My head is twice as big as yours. 

They therefore needs must fit. 

" But let me scrape the dirt away 

Tliat hangs upon your face ; 
And stop and eat, for Avell you may 

Be in a hungry case." 



Said John, " It is my wedding day, 
And all the world would stare 

If wife should dine at Edmonton, 
And I should dine at Ware." 

So turning to his horse, he said 

" I am in haste to dine; 
' Twas for your pleasure you came lierR-- 

You shall go back for mine." 

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast, 

For which he paid full dear ! 
For, while he spake, a braying ass 

Did sing most loud and clear; 

Whereat his horse did snort, as he 

Had heard a lion roar, 
And galloped off" with all his might, 

As he had done before. 

AAvay went Gilpin, and away 

Went Gilpin's hat and wig : 
He lost them sooner than at first, 

For why ? — they were too big. 

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw 
. Her husband posting down 
Into the country far away. 
She pulled out half a crown ; 

And thus unto the youth she said, 

That drove them to the Bell, 
" This shall be yours when you bring back 

My husband safe and well." 

The youth did ride, and soon did meet 

John coming back amain — 
Whom in a trice he tried to stop, 

By catching at his rein ; 

But not performing what he meant, 

And gladly would have done. 
The frighted steed he frighted more. 

And made him faster run. 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went post-boy at his heels. 
The post-boy's horse riglit glad to miss 

Tlie lumbering of the wheels. 

Six gentlemen upon the road, 

Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
With post-boy scampering in the rear, 

They raised the hue and cry : 



SIR SIDNEY SMITH. 



419 



" Stop thief! stop thief !— a liiglnvayinan ! " 

Not one of tliem was mr.tc ; 
And all and each that passed that way 

Did join in the pursuit. 

And now the turnpike gates again 

Flew open in short space ; 
The toll-men thinking as before, 

That Gilpin rode a race. 

And so he did, and won it too, 

For he got first to town ; 
Nor stopped till where he had got np 

He did again get down. 

Now let ns sing, long live the king ! 

And Gilpin, long live he ; 
And when he next doth ride abroad, 

May I be there to see ! 

William Cowpee. 



AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER 
SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 

Good peoi^le all, with one accord 

Lament for Madame Blaiz<^ 
Who never wanted a good worci— 

From those who spoke her praise. 

The needy seldom passed her door, 

And always fomad her kind ; 
She freely lent to all the jioor— 

Who left a pledge behind. 

She strove the neighborhood to please 
With manners wondrous winning ; 

And never followed wicked ways — 
Unless when she was sinning. 

At church, in silks and satin new. 

With hoop of monstrous size. 
She never slumbered in her pew — 

But when she shut her eyes. 

Her love was sought, I do aver, 

By twenty beaux and more ; 
The king himself has followed her— 

When she has walked before. 

But now, her wealth aiul finery fled. 
Her hangers-on cut sliort all ; 



The doctors found, when she was dead 

Her last disorder mortal. 

Let us lament in sorrow sore, 
For Kent street well may say. 

That had she lived a twelvemonth more, 
She had not died to-day. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 



SIR SIDNEY SMITH. 

Geotlefolks, in my time, I 've made many a 

rhyme, 
But the song I now trouble you with, 
Lays some claim to applause, and you'll 

grant it, because 
The subject 's Sir Sidney Smith, it is ; 
The sul)ject's Sir Sidney Smith. 

We all know Sir Sidney, a man of such kid- 
ney. 

He 'd fight every foe he could meet ; 

Give him one ship for two, and without more 
ado, . 

He'd engage if he met a whole fleet, he 
would. 

He 'd engage if he met a whole fleet. 

Thus he took every day, all that came in his 

way. 
Till fortune, that changeable elf, 
Ordered accidents so, that while taking the 

foe, 
Sir Sidney got taken himself, he did," 
Sir Sidney got taken himself. 

His captors right glad of the prize they now 

had. 
Rejected each ofier we bid. 
And swore he should stay locked up till 

doomsday ; 
But he swore he 'd be d d if he did he 

did ; 
But he swore he 'd be hanged if he did. 

So Sir Sid got away, and his jailer next day 
Cried ^' sacre, diable, morbleu, 
Monprisonnier 'scape ; I 'ave got in von scrape, 
And I fear I must run away too, I must, 
T fear I must run away too ! " 



420 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



If Sir Sidney was wrong, why then blacls:ball 

ray song, 
E'en his foes he Vv'ould scorn to deceive ; 
His" escape was but jast, and confess it you 

must, 
For it only was taking French leave, you 

know, 
It only was taking French leave. 

Thomas Dibdik. 



MASSACRE OF THE MACPHERSOK 



FnAiESHOx swore a feud 

Against the clan M'Tavish — 
Marched into their land 

To murder and to rafish ; 
For he did resolve 

To extirpate the vipers. 
With four-and-twenty men. 

And five-and-thirty pipers. 



But when he had gone 

Half-way down Stratli-Canaan, 
Of his fighting tail 

Just three were remainin'. 
They were all he had 

To back him in ta battle ; 
All the rest had gone 

Off to drive ta cattle. 



"Fery coot! " cried Fhairshon- 

" So my clan disgraced is ; 
Lads, we 'II need to fight 

Pefore we touch ta peasties. 
Here 's Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh 

Coming wi' his fassals — 
GiUies seventy-three. 

And sixty Dhuincwassels ! " 



" Coot tay to you, sir ! 

Are you not ta Fhairshon ? 
Was you coming here 

To visit any person ? 



You are a plackguard, sir? 

It is now six hundred 
Coot long years, and more. 

Since my glen was plundered." 



"Fat is tat you say? 

Dar you cock your peavor ? 
I will teach you, sir, 

Fat is coot pehaviour ! 
You shall not exist 

For another day more ; 
I will shot you, sir. 

Or stap you with my claymore 



"I am fery glad 

To learn what ycu mention, 
Since I can prevent 

Any such intention." 
So Mliic-Mac-Methusaleh 

Gave some warlike howls, 
Trew his skhian-dhu, 

An' stuck it in his powels. 



In this fery way 

Tied ta faliant Fhairshon, 
Who was always thought 

A superior person. 
Fhairshon had a son, 

W^ho married jSToah's daughter, 
And nearly spoiled ta flood 

By trinking up ta water — 



Which he would have done, 

I at least believe it. 
Had ta mixture peen 

Only half Glenlivet. 
This is all my tale : 

Sirs, I hope 't is new t' ye ! 
Here 's your fery good healths, 

And tamn ta wliu-;ky tuty ! 

William Edmoxdstone AyTOUn 



TAM O'SHANTER. 



42J 



TAM O^SHANTER. 



Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Bake. 

Gawin Douglass, 

WnEN' cliapraan billies leave the street, 
And drouthy ueebors necbors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
"While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' getting fou and unco happy. 
We think na on the lang Scots miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles. 
That lie between us and our hame, 
"Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame. 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm. 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tarn o' Shanter, 
As he, frae Ayr, ae night did canter, 
(Auld x\yr, wham ne'er a town surpasses. 
For honest men and bonnie lasses). 

Tam ! hadst thou been but sae wise 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! « 

She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A bleth'ring, blust'ring, drunken blellum ; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober ; 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on. 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
That at the L — d's house, cv'i; on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirten Jean till Monday. 
She prophesied that, late or soon, 
Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon ; 
Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
By Alio way's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet 
To think how monie counsels sweet, 
IIow monie lengthened sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night 
Tam had got planted unco right. 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that dran]i; divinely ; 
And at his elbow suuter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony — 
Tam lo'cd him like a vera brither — 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 



The night dravc en wi' saugs and clatter. 
And ay the ale was growing better ; 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favors secret, sweet, an^l precious ; 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy; 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' ti-easure, 
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure ; 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread. 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-fall in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever ; 
Or like the borealis race. 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely farm 
Evanishing amid the storm. 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride — . 
That hour o' night's black arch the keystanc, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ■, 
And sic a night he takes the road in 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellowed ; 
That night a child might understand 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 
(A better never lifted leg), 
Tam skclpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire — 
Whjdes holding fast his guid blue bonnet, 
Whyles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, 
Whyles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh. 
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored ; 
And past the birks and meikle staue, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn ; 



422 



POEMS OF COMEDY 



And near the thorn, aboon tlie well, 
Where Mungo's mitlier hanged hersel. 
Before him Doon pours all his floods : 
The doubling storm roars through the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When glimmering tliro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk Alloway seemed in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippcnny we fear uae evil; 
Wi' usquabae we '11 face tlie Devil ! — 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammio's nod- 
dle, 
Fair play, he cared na Deils a bodle. 
Bat Maggie stood right sair astonished. 
Till, by the heel and hand admonished. 
She ventured forward on the light ; 
And, wow! Tarn saw an unco sight; 
Warlocks and witches in a dance: 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspreys, and reels 
Put life and mettle in their heels. 
A winnock-bunlcer in the east. 
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast — 
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large — 
To gie them music was his charge ; 
He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl. 
Till roof an' rafter a' did dirl. 
Cofiins stood round like open presses, 
That shawed the dead in their last dresses; 
And by some devilish cantrips sleiglit. 
Each in its cauld hand held a light — • 
By which heroic Tam was able 
• To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns ; 
A thief, new cutted fra a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red rusted ; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft — 
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Three lawyers' tongues turned inside out, 
Wi' lies seamed like a beggar's clout ; 
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk : 



Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu' 

Which ev'n to name would be unlaw fu'. 

As Tammie glowred, amazed, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious ; 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they 

cleckit. 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark. 

Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans 
A' plump and strapping in their teens : 
Their sarks, instead of creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen ; 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en tliem aff' my hurdles, 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But withered beldams, auld and droll, 
Eigwoodie hags wad spean a fotil, 
Lowping an' flinging on a crunmiock — 
I wonder did ua turn thy stomach. 
' But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie. 
There was ae winsome wench and walie, 
That night inlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ! 
For monie a beast to dead she shot. 
And perished monie a bonnie boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear), 
Iler cuttj^-sark o' Paisley barn, 
That while a lassie she had worn — 
In longitude tho' sorely scarty, 
It was her best, and she was vaunty. 
Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots (twas a' her riches) — 
Wad ever graced a dmce o' witches! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cower, 
Sic flights are far beyond her power ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jad she was and Strang) ; 
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched, 
And thought his very een enriched. 
Ev'n Satan glowred, and fidged fu' foin. 
And botched and blew wi' migbt and main 
Till first ae caper, syne anither — 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither. 
And roars out, " Wecl done, Cutty-sark! " 
And in an instant a' was dark; 



THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS. 



423 



And scarcely had ho Maggie rallied, 
"When out tlie hellii^h legion sallied, 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
"^^'hcn plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
Wheu pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When Gatcli the thief ! I'esounds aloud; 
So Maggie runs — the witches follow, 
Wi' nionie an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn ! ah. Tain ! thou '11 get thy fair- 



In hell they '11 roast thee like a hei-rin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comiu' — 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss — 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ; 
For Xannie, far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle : 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought aff her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail: 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Jfow, -wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Hk man and mother's son take heed ; 
Whene'er to driidc you are inclined. 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
Think, yc may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 

l!oBEi!T Burns. 



COLOGNE. 

In Kohl, a town of monks and bones. 

And pavements fauged with murderous stones. 

And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches — 

I counted two and seventy stenches. 

All well defined and several stinks! 

Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks, 

The river Rhine, it is well known. 

Doth wash youi' city of Cologne ; 

But tell me, nymphs ! what power divine 

Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine ? 

Sami'el Taylou Coleuidge. 



THE DEVIL'S TIIOUCnTS. 



Fp.oii his brimstone bed at break of day 

A walking the devil is gone, 
To visit his snug little farm, the earth, 

And see how his stock ffoes on. 



Over the hill and over the dale. 

And he went over the plain ; 
And backward and forward he switched his 
long tail. 

As a gentleman switches his cane. 



And how then was the devil drest? 

Oh ! he was in his Sunday's best : 

His jacket was red and his breeches were 

blue. 
And there was a hole where the tail came 

through. 

IV. 

He saw a lawyer killing a viper 

On a dunghill hard by his own stable ; 

And the devil smiled, for it put him in mind 
Of Cain and his brother Abel. 



He saw an apotliecary on a white horse 

Ride by on his vocations ; 
And the devil thought of his old friend 

Death, in the Revelations. 



He saw a cottage with a double coacli-house, 

A cottage of gentility; 
And the devil did grin, for his darling sin 

Is pride that apes humility. 



lie peeped into a rich bookseller's shop — 
Quoth he, " We are both of one college ! 

For I sate, myself, like a cormorant, once, 
Hard by the tree of knowledge." 



Down the river did glide, with wind and with 
tide, 
A pig with vast celerity ; 



~1 



424: 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



And the devil looked wise as he saw how, 

the while, 
It cut its own throat. " There ! " quotli he 

with a smile, 
" Goes England's commercial prosperity." 



As he Vv'eut through Cold-Bath Fields he saw 

A solitary cell ; 
And the devil was pleased, for it gave him a 
hint 

For improving his prisons in hell. 



He saw a turnkey in a trice 

Fetter a troublesome blade ; 
" Nimbly," quoth he, " do the fingers move 

If a man be but used to his trade." 



He saw the same turnkey unfetter a man 

With but little expedition ; 
"Which put him in mind of the long debate 

On the slave-trade abolition. 



He saw an old acquaintance 

As he passed by a Methodist meeting ; 
She holds a consecrated key. 

And the devil nods her a greeting. 



She turned up her nose, and said, 
" Avaunt ! — my name 's Religion! 

And she looked to Mr. , 

And leered like a love-sick pigeon. 



He saw a certain minister, 
A minister to his mind, 

Go up into a certain house, 
With a majority behind; 



The devil quoted Genesis, 
Like a very learned clerk. 

How " Noah and his creeping things 
Went up into the ark." 



He took from the poor, 

And he gave to the rich. 
And he shook hands with a Scotchman, 

For he was not afraid of the 



SVII. 

General burning face 

He saw with consternation. 
And back to hell his way did he take — 
For the devil thought by a slight mistake 

It was a general conflagration. 

Samuel Tatlok Coleeidsb. 



THE HAG. 

The hag is astride, 

This night for to ride — 
The devil and she together ; 

Through thick and through thin, 

Now out and then in, 
Though ne'er so foul be the weather. 

A thorn or a burr 

Slie takes for a spur ; 
With a lash of the bramble she rides now 

Through brakes and through briers, 

O'er ditches and mires, 
She follows the spirit that guides now. 

No beast, for his food. 

Dares now range the wood, 
But husht in his lair he hes lurking ; 

While mischiefs, by these, 

On land and on seas. 
At noon of night are a-working. 

The storm will arise. 

And trouble the skies. 
This night; and, more the wonder, 

The ghost from the tomb 

Aftrighted shall come. 
Called out by the clap of the thunder. 

EOBEKT IlrRKKiK, 



SONG. 



425 



THE FEIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE 
KNIFE-GRINDEE. 

FRIEXD OF HUMANITY. 

" Needy knife-grinder ! whither are you 

going? 
Rough is the road ; your wheel is out of order. 
Bleak blows the blast ; — your hat has got a 

hole in't; 

So have your breeches! 

"Weary knife-grinder ! little think the proud 

ones, 
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike- 
road, what hard work 't is crying all day 

' Knives and 
Scissors to grind ! ' 

'' Tell me, knife-grinder, how came you to 

grind knives? 
Did some rich man tyrannically use you ? 
Was it the squire? or parson of the parish? 

Or the attorney ? 

" Was it the squire for kilHng of his game ? or 
Covetous parson for his tithes distraining? 
Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little 
iVll in a lawsuit ? 

" (Have you not read the Eights of Man, by 

Tom Paine ?) 
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, 
Eeady to fall as soon as you have told your 

Pitiful story." 



EXIFE-GRIXDEE. 

" Story ! God bless you ! I have none to tell, 

sir; 
Only, last night, a-drinking at the Chequers, 
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, 

were 

Torn in a scuffle. 

" Constables came up for to take me into 
Custody; they took me before the justice; 
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish- 
stocks for a vagrant. 
58 



"I should be glad to drink your honor's 

health in 
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; 
But for my part, I never love to meddle 
With politics, sir." 

FRIEND OF UtTMAOTTY. 

" I give thee sixpence ! I will see thee damned 

first — 
Wretch ! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse 

to vengeance — 
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, 
Spiritless outcast ! " 

IKicIcs the knife-grinder, overhirns his iclieel, and exit 
in a transport of republican enthusiasm and uwi- 
versal jihilaniliropy.} 

Georoe Causing. 



SONG 



OF ONE ELEVEX YEAES IX PEISON. 

Wdexe'ee with haggard eyes I view 
This dungeon that I 'm rotting in, 
I think of those companions true 
Who studied with me at the IJ- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

[Weeps and 2'>i-dls out a Hue kerchief iciHi icMeh he 
tcijjes his eyes ; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds :] 

Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue. 

Which once ray love sat knotting in — 
Alas, Matilda then was t-ie ! 
At least I thougllt so ai •he U- 

nivOTsity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

lAtthn rcpeiliion of this line he clanks his chains in 
cadence.] 

Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew, 

Her neat post-wagon trotting in ! 
Ye bore Matilda from my view ; 
Forlorn I languished at the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

This faded form ! this pallid hue ! 

This blood my veins is clotting in ! 
My years a)"e many — they were few 
When first I entered at the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 



426 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Tliere first for thee my passion grew, 

Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen ! 
Thou wast the daughter of my tu- 
tor, law-professor at the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu, 
That kings and priests are plotting in ; 
Here doomed to starve on water gru- 
el, never shall I see the TJ- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

[DuHng the last stanza he dashes his head repeatedly 
against the walls of his prison, and finally so 
hard as to produce a visible contusion. He then 
throws himself on the floor in an agony, Tlie cur- 
tain drops, the music still continuing to play till it 
is wholly fallen.] 

Geobge CA^■^"I^"G. 



A RECEIPT FOR SALAD. 

To make this condiment your poet hegs 

The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs ; 

Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen 
sieve. 

Smoothness and softness to the salad give; 

Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, . 

And, half suspected, animate the whole ; 

Of mordent mustard add a single spoon. 

Distrust the condiment that bites so soon ; 

But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault 

To add a double quantity of salt ; 

Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca 
crown. 

And twice with vinegar, procured from town ; 

And lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss 

A magic soup^on of anchovy sauce. 

Oil, green and glorious ! Oh, herbaceous 
treat ! 

'T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat ; 

Back to the world he M turn his fleeting soul. 

And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl ; 

Serenely full, the epicm*e would say, 

" Fate cannot harm me, — I have dined to- 
day." 

Sydset Smith. 



TEE ESSENCE OF OPERA; 

OE, ALMAXZ <R AXD IMOGE:Sr. 

An Opera, in tlirce Acts. 



SUBJECT OF THE OPERA. 
A brave young prince a young princess adores; 
A combat kills him, but a god restores. 

PKOLOOrE. 

A MrsiciAx. People, appear, approach, ad- 
vance I 

To Singers. 
You that can sing, the chorus bear! 

To Dancers. 
Ton that can turn your toes out, dance ! 
Let 's celebrate this fiuthful pair. 



ACT I. 
Imogen. My love ! 
Almaxzoe. My sonl ! 

Both. At length then we unite ! 
People, sing, dance, and show us your delightl 
Choexis. Let 's sing, and dance, and show 
'em our delight. 



ACT IL 
Imogen. love ! 

\A noise of war. The prince appears, pursued by his 
enemies. Combat. The princess faints. The prince 
is mortally wounded.] 

Almaxzoe. Alas ! 
Imogex. Ah, what! 

Almaxzoe. I die ! 

Imogex. Ah me ! 

People, sing, dance, and show your misery ! 
CuoEus. Let 's sing, and dance, and show 
our miserv. 



ACT in. 

[Pallas descends in a cloud to Almamor and speaJcs.] 
Pallas. Almanzor, live ! 
Imogex. Oh, bliss! 
Almaxzoe. What do I sec ? 
• Teio. People, sing, dance, and hail this 
prodigy ! 
CnoKus, Let's sing, and dance, and hail 
this prodigy. 
I Anonymous Translation. 



AxorrMOCS. (French.) 



A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO. 



427 



IIYPOCIIONDRIACUS. 

By myself walking, 

To myself talking 

"When as I ruminate 

On my untoward fate, 

Scarcely seem I 

Alone sufficiently, 

Black thoughts contimiallj 

Crowdmg my privacy. 

They come unbidden, 

Like foes at a wedding, 

Thrusting their faces 

In better guests' places, 

Peevish and malcontent, 

Clownish, impertinent. 

Dashing the merriment : 

So, in hke fashions, 

Dim cogitations 

Follow and liaunt me, 

Striving to daunt me, 

In my heart festering. 

In my ears whispering — 

' Thy friends are treacherous. 

Thy foes are dangerous, 

Thy dreams ominous." 

Fierce anthropophagi, 
Spectres, diaboli — 
What scared St. Anthony — 
Ilobgoblins, lemures. 
Dreams of antipodes ! 
Night-riding incubi 
Troubling the fantasy, 
All dire illusions 
Causing confusions : 
Figments heretical. 
Scruples fimtastical. 
Doubts diabolical ! 
Abaddon vexeth me, 
Mahu perplexeth me ; 
Lucifer teareth me — 

Jcsu! Maria! Uherate nos ab his diris 
entationilns Inimici. 

Chaeles Lamb. 



A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO. 

May the Babylonish curse • 

Strait confound my stammering verse, 

If I can a passage see 

In tliis word-perplexity. 

Or a fit expression find, 

Or a language to my mind 

(Still the phrase is wide or scant), 

To take leave of thee, great plant ! 

Or in any terms relate 

Half my love, or half my hate ; 

For I hate, yet love, thee so, 

That, whichever thing I shew. 

The plain truth will seem to be 

A constrained hyperbole. 

And the passion to proceed 

More for a misti-ess than a weed. 



Sooty retainer to the vine ! 
Bacchus's black servant, negro fine ! 
Sorcerer ! that mak'st us dote iipon 
Thy begrimed complexion, 
And, for thy pernicious sake. 
More and greater oaths to break 
Than reclaimed lovers take 
'Gainst women ! Thou thy siege dost lay 
Much, too, in the female way. 
While thou suck'st the laboring breath 
Faster than kisses, or than death. 

Thou in such a cloud dost bind us 
That our worst foes cannot find us, 
And ill fortune, that would thwart us. 
Shoots at rovers, shooting at us; 
While each man, through thy height'ning 

steam. 
Does like a suioking Etna seem ; 
And all about us docs express 
(Fancy and wit in richest dress) 
A Sicilian fruitfulness. 



Thou through such a mist dost show us 
That oiu- best friends do not know us, 
And, for those allowed features 
Due to reasonable creatures, 
Likcn'st us to fell chimeras. 
Monsters — that who see us, fear us ; 



428 



rOEMS OF COMEDY. 



Worse than Cerberus or Geryon, 
< )r, wlio first loved a cloud, Ixion. 

Bacclius we know, and we allow 
His tipsy rites. But what art tlaon, 
That but by reflex can'st shew 
What his deity can do — 
As the false Egyptian spell 
Aped the true Hebrew miracle? 
Some few vapors thou may'st raise. 
The weak brain may serve to amaze ; 
But to the reins and nobler heart 
Can'st nor life nor heat impart. 

Brother of Bacchus, later born ! 
The old world was sure forlorn, 
Wanting thee, that aidest more 
The god's victories than, before. 
All his panthers, and the brawls 
Of his piping Bacclianals. 
These, as stale, we disallow. 
Or judge of thee meant : only thou 
His true Indian conquest art ; 
And, for ivy round his dart, 
The reformed god now weaves 
A finer thyrsus of thy leaves. 

Scent to match thy rich perfume 
Chemic art did ne'er presume — 
Through her quaint alembic strain, 
None so sovereign to the brain. 
Nature, that did in thee excel. 
Framed again no second smell. 
Roses, violets, but toys 
For the smaller sort of boys, 
Or for greener damsels meant ; 
Thou art the only manly scent. 

Stinkingest of the stinking kind ! 
Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind ! 
Africa, that brags her foyson. 
Breeds no such prodigious poison ! 
Henbane, nightshade, both together,. 
Hemlock, aconite 

Nay, rather, 
Plant divine, of rarest virtue ! 
Bhs'ters on the tongue would hurt you ! 



Twas but in a sort I blamed thee; I 

None e'er prospered who dcftxmed thee ; { 

Irony all, and feigned abuse, ] 

Such as perplext lovers use 

At a need, when, in despair 

To paint forth their fairest foir, 

Or in part but to express 

That exceeding comeliness 

Which their fancies doth so strike, 

They borrow language of dislike ; 

And, instead of dearest Miss, 

Jewel, honey, sweetheart, bliss. 

And those forms of old admiring, 

Call her cockatrice and siren. 

Basilisk, and all that 's evil. 

Witch, hyena, mermaid, devil, 

Ethiop, wench, and blackamoor, 

Monkey, ape, and twenty more — 

Friendly trait'ress, loving foe — 

Not that she is truly so. 

But no other way they know, 

A contentment to express 

Borders so upon excess 

That they do not rightly wot 

Whether it be from pain or not. 



Or, as men, constrained to part 
With what 's nearest to their heart. 
While their sorrow 's at the height 
Lose discrimination quite, 
And their hasty wrath let fall, 
To appease their frantic gall, 
On the darling thing, whatever, 
Whence they feel it death to sever, 
Though it be, as they, perforce, 
Guikless of the sad divorce. 



For I must (nor let it grieve thee, 
Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave 

thee. 
For thy sake, tobacco, I 
Would do anything but die. 
And but seek to extend ray days 
Long enough to sing thy praise. 
But, as she, who once hath been 
A king's consort, is a queen 
Ever after, nor will hate 
Any tittle of her state 



FAITHLESS NELLIE GRAY. 



429 



Tliougli a widow, or divorced — 
So I, frora thy converse forced, 
The old name and style retain, 
A right Catherine of Spain ; 
And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys 
Of the blest tobacco boys ; 
Where though I, by sour physician, 
Am debarred the full fruition 
Of thy favors, I may catch 
Some collateral sweets, and snatch 
Sidelong odors, that give life 
Like glances from a neighbor's wife ; 
And still live in the by-places 
And the suburbs of thy graces ; 
And in thy borders take delight. 
An unconquered Canaanite. 

Chaeles Lajjb. 



FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. 

A PATHETIO BALLAD, 

Ben Battle was a soldier bold. 
And used to war's alarms; 

But a cannon-ball took off his legs, 
So he laid down his arms. 



Now as they bore him off the field. 
Said he, " Let others shoot ; 

For here I leave my second leg. 
And the Forty-second foot." 

The army-surgeons made him limbs : 
Said he, "They're only pegs; 

But there 's as wooden members quite, 
As represent my legs." 

Now Ben he loved a pretty maid— 
Her name was Nelly Gray ; 

So he went to pay her his devours, 
When he devoured his pay. 

But when he called on Nelly Gray, 
Slic made him quite a scoff; 

And when she sav/ his wooden leg?. 
Began to take them off. 



" 0, Nelly Gray ! O, Nelly Gray ! 

Is this your love so warm ? 
The love that loves a scarlet coat 

Should be more uniform." 

Said she, "I loved a soldier once, 
For he was blithe and brave ; 

But I will never have a man 
With both legs in the grave, 

" Before you had those timber toes 

Your love I did allow ; 
But then, you know, you stand upon 

Another footing now." 

"0, Nelly Gray! 0, Nelly Gray! 

For all your jeering speeches. 
At duty's call I left my legs 

In Badajos's breaches." 

"Why then," said she, "you 've lost tb 
feet 

Of legs in war's alarms. 
And now you cannot wear your shoes 

Upon your feats of arms." 

" 0, false and fickle Nelly Gray ! 

I know why you refuse : 
Though I've no feet, some other man 

Is standing in my shoes. 



" I wish I ne'er had seen your foce ; 

But, now, a long farewell ! 
For you will be my death ; — alas ! 

You will not be my Nell ! " 



Now when he went from Nelly Gray 

His heart so heavy got. 
And life was such a burden grown, 

It made him take a knot. 



So round his melancholy neck 
A rope he did entwine, 

And, for his second time in life, 
Enlisted in the hne. 



430 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



One end lie tied around a beam, 
And then removed bis pegs ; 

And, as bis legs were off, — of course 
lie soon was off bis legs. 

And tbere be bung, till be was dead 

As any nail in town ; 
For, tbougb distress bad cut bim up. 

It could not cut bim down,- 

A dozen men sat on bis corpse. 

To find out wby be died — 
And tbey buried Ben in four cross-roads, 

Witb a stake in bis inside. 

Tuo.MAS Hood. 



TAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. 

AN OLD BALLAD. 

YoiraG Bex be was a nice young man, 

A carpenter by trade ; 
And be fell in love witb Sally Brown, 

Tbat was a lady's maid. 

But as tbey fetcbed a walk one day, 

Tbey met a press-gang crew ; 
And Sally sbe did faint away, 

"Whilst Ben be was brougbt to. 

Tbe boatswain swore witb wicked words, 

Enongh to sbock a saint, 
Tbat tbough sbe did seem in a fit, 

'T was nothing but a feiut. 

" Come, girl," said be," bold up your bead — 

He'll be as good as me ; 
For wben your swain is in our boat 

A boatswain be will be." 

So wben tbey 'd made tbeir game of ber. 

And taken off ber elf, 
Sbe roused, and found sbe only was 

A-coming to herself. 

"And is be gone, and is be gone ? " 
She cried, and wept outright ; 

" Then I will to tbe water-side, 
And see him out of sight." 

A waterman came up to her; 

" Now, young woman," said he, 
" If you weep on so, you v/ill make 

Eye water in the sea." 



" Alas ! tbey 've taken my beau, Ben, 

To sail witb old BenboAv ; " 
And her woe began to run afresh, 

As if sbe 'd said. Gee woe ! 

Says be, "They 've only taken bhn 

To the tender ship, you see." 
" Tbe tender ship," cried Sally Brown — 

" TVhat a bard ship tbat must be ! 

" Oh ! would I were a mermaid now, 

For then I 'd folloAV him ; 
But oh! — I'm not a fish woman. 

And so I cannot swim. 

" Alas ! I was not born beneath 

Tbe virgin and tbe scales, 
So I must curse my cruel stars, 

And walk about in "Wales." 

Now Ben had sailed to many a place 
That's underneath the world ; 

But in two years the ship came home. 
And all her sails were furled. 

But wben be called on Sally Brown, 

To see how sbe got on. 
He found she 'd got another Ben, 

Whose Christian -name was John. 

"0, Sally Brown, 0, Sally Brown, 
How could you serve me so ? 

I've met with many a breeze before, 
But never such a blow ! " 

Then reading on his 'bacco box, 

lie heaved a heavy sigh, 
And then began to eye bis pipe, 

And then to pipe bis eye. 

And then he tried to sing "All 's Well ! " 
But could not, though be tried ; 

His bead was turned — and so he chewed 
Ilis pigtail till be died. 

His death, wljich happened in bis berth, 

At forty-odd befell ; 
They went and told the sexton, and 

The sexton tolled the bell. 

TUOMAS nOOI> 



r 

THE WHITE SQUALL. 43j 




And ne'er a cork jacket 


THE LADY AT SEA. 


On board of the packet ; 




The breeze still a-stiffening ; 


Cables entangling her ; 


The trumpet quite deafening ; 




Thoughts of repentance, 


Sliii)-spars for mangling her; 
Eopes sure of strangling her ; 


And doomsday, and sentence ; 


Every thing sinister — 


Blocks over-dangling her; 




O O 7 


Not a church minister ; 


Tiller to hatter her ; 






Pilot a blunderer ; 


Topmast to shatter her ; 


Coral reefs under her. 


Tobacco to spatter her ; 
Boreas hliistering ; 
Boatswain quite flustering; 
Thunder-clouds mustering, 


Peady to sunder her : 
Trunks tipsy-topsy ; 
The ship in a dropsy ; 




Waves oversurging her ; 


To blast her with sulphur — 


Sirens a-dirging her ; 


If the deep don 't ingulph her ; 


Sharks all expecting her; 


Sometimes fear 's scrutiny- 


Sword-fish dissecting her ; 


Pries out a mutiny, 


Crabs with their hand-vices 


Sniffs conflagration, 


Punishing land vices ; 


Or hints at starvation ; 


Sea-dogs and unicorns. 


All the sea dangers, 


Things with no puny horns; 


Buccaneers, rangers, 


Mermen carnivorous — 




Pirates, and Sallee-men, 


" Good Lord deliver us ! " 


Algerine galleymen. 


Thomas IIoo;) 


Tornadoes and typhous, 




And horrible syphons, 


* 


And submarine travels 




Thro' roaring sea-navels ; 


THE WHITE SQUALL. 


Every thing wrong enough — 




Long-boat not long enough ; 


On deck, beneath the awning. 


Vessel not strong enough ; 


I dozing lay and yawning ; 


Pitch marring frippery- ; 


It was the gray of dawning, 


The deck very slippery ; 


Ere yet the sun arose ; 


And the cabin — built sloping ; 


And above the funnel's roaring, 


The captain a-toping ; 


And the fitful wind's deploring. 


And the mate a blasphemer. 


I heard the cabiu snoring 


Tliat names his Redeemer — 


With universal nose. 


With inward uneasiness ; 


I could hear the passengers snorting — 


The cook known by greasiness; 


I envied their disporting — 


The victuals beslubbered ; 


Vainly I was courting 


Her bed — in a cupboard: 


The pleasure of a doze. 


Things of strange christening. 




Snatched in her listening ; 


So I lay, and wondered why light 


Blue lights and red lights, 


Came not, and watched the twilight, 


And mention of dead lights ; 


And the glimmer of the skylight. 


And shrouds made a theme of — 


That shot across the deck ; 


Tilings horrid to dream of; 


And the binnacle pale and steady, 


And buoys in the water ; 


And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye, 


To fear all e:xhort her. 


And the sparks in fiery eddy 


Her friend no Leander — 


That whirled from the chimney neck. 


Herself no sea gander ; 


In our jovial floating prison 



432 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Thevo was sleep from fore to mizzen, 
iVnd never a star had riseu 

The hazy sky to speck. 
Strange company we harbored : 
We 'd a Imndred Jews to larboard, 
Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered — 

Jews black, and brown, and gray. 

With terror it Avould seize ye, 
And make your souls uneasy, 
To see those Kabbis greasy, 

"Who did nought but scratch and pray. 
Their dirty children puking — 
Their dirty saucepans cooking — 
Their dirty fingers hooking 

Their swarming fleas away. 

To starboard Turks and Greeks were — 
Whiskered and brown their cheeks were- 
Enormous wide their breeks were — 

Their pipes did puff away ; 
Each on his mat allotted 
In silence smoked and squatted. 
Whilst round their children trotted 

In pretty, pleasant play, 
lie can't but smile who traces 
The smiles on those brown faces, 
And the pretty, prattling graces 

Of those small heathens gay. 

And so the hours kept tolling — 
And through the ocean rolling 
Went the brave Iberia bowling, 
Before the break of day 

When a squall, upon a sudden, 
Came o'er the waters scudding ; 
And the clouds began to gather, 
And the sea was lashed to lather, 
And thg lowering thunder grumbled. 
And the lightning jumped and tumbled ; 
And the ship, and all the ocean, 
Woke up in wild commotion. 
Tlien the wind set up a howling. 
And the poodle dog a yowling, 
And the cocks began a crowing, 
And the old cow raised a lowing. 
As she heard the tempest blowing ; 
And fowls and geese did cackle ; 
And the cordage and the tackle 
I^egan to shriek and crackle ; 



And the spray dashed o'er the funnels. 
And down the deck in runnels ; 
And tlie rushing water soaks all, 
From the seamen in the fo'ksal 
To the stokers, whose black faces 
Peer out of their bed-places ; 
And the captain he was bawling. 
And the sailors pulling, hauling. 
And the quarter-deck tarpauling 
Was shivered in the squalling; 
And the passengers awaken. 
Most pitifully shaken ; 
And the steward jumps up, and hastens 
For the necessary basins. 

Then the Greeks they groaned and quiv- 
ered. 
And they knelt, and moaned, and shiverefl, 
As the plunging waters met them. 
And splashed and overset them ; 
And they called in their emergence 
Upon countless saints and virgins ; 
And their marrowbones are bended. 
And they tliink the world is ended. 
And the Turkish women for'ard 
Were frightened and behorrored , 
And, shrieking and bewildering, 
The mothers clutched their children ; 
The men sang " Allah ! Illah ! 
MashallahBismillah!" 
As the warring waters doused them. 
And splashed them and soused them ; 
And they called upon the prophet. 
And thought but little of it. 

Then all the fleas in Jewry 

Jumped up and bit like fury : 

And the progeny of Jacob 

Did on the main-deck wake up, 

(I wot those greasy Rabbins 

Would never pay for cabins ;) 

And each man moaned and jabbered in 

His filthy Jewish gabardine. 

In woe and lamentation, 

And howling consternation. 

xVnd the splashing water drenches 

Their dirty brats and wenches ; 

And they crawl from bales and benches, 

In a hundred thousand stenches. 

This was the ■w^iite squall famous, 
Which latterly o'ercamo ua, 



ST. PATRICK YfAS A GENTLEMAN. 4.ri 


And whicli all will remember, 


The Wicklow hills are very high, 


On the 28th September : 


And so 's the Hill of Howth, sir; 


When a Prussian cai)tain of Lancers 


But there 's a hill, much bigger still, 


(Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers) 


Much higher nor them both, sir. 


Came on the deck astonished. 


'T was on the top of this high hill 


By that wild squall admonished. 


St. Patrick preached his sarmint 


And wondering cried, " Potz tausend, 


That drove the frogs into the bogs. 


Wie ist der Sturm jetzt brausend? " 


And banished all the varmint. 


And looked at captain Lewis, 


So^ success attend St. Pdtriclc'sfist, 


Who calmly stood and blew his 


For he 's a saint so clever ; 


Cigar in all the bustle. 


Oh ! he gave the snakes and toads a tioist, 


And scorned the tempest's tussle ; 


And lothered them for ever! 


And oft we 've thought thereafter 
How he beat the storm to laughter ; 
For well he knew his vessel 
With that vain wind could vrrestle ; 
And when a wreck we thought her, 
And doomed ourselves to slaughter, 
• IIow gaily he fought her. 
And through the hubbub brought her, 
And as the tempest cauglit her, 
Cried, "George, some brandy and water!" 


There 's not a mile in Ireland's isle 

Where dirty varrain musters, 
But there he put his dear fore-foot. 

And murdered them in clusters. 
The toads went pop, the frogs went hop._ 

Slap-dash into the water ; 
And the snakes committed suicide 

To save themselves from slaughter. 
So., success attend St. Patriclc'sfist^ 

For he 's a saint so clever ; 


And when, its force expended, 
The harmless storm was ended. 


Oh ! he gave the snal'es and toads a twisty 
And lathered them for ever ! 


And as the sunrise splendid 


Nine hundred thousand reptiles blue 


Came blushing o'er the sea, — ■ 


He charmed with sweet discourses, 


I thought, as day was breaking. 


And dined on them at Killaloe 


My little girls were waking, 


In soups and second courses. 


And smiling, and making 


Where blind worms crawling in the grass 


A prayer at home foi* me. 


Disgusted all the nation, 


"William Makepeace Thackeray. 


He gave them a rise, which opened their 




eyes 
To a sense of their situation. 




So, success attend St. Patriclc's fist, 




For he 's a saint so clever ; 


ST. PATPJCK WAS A GENTLEMAN. 


Oh ! he gave the snalccsand toads a twist. 
And lathered them for ever ! 


On I St. Patrick was a gentleman. 


No wonder that those Irish lads 


Who came of decent people ; 


Should be so gay and frisky. 


lie built a church in Dublin town, 


For sure St. Pat he taught them that, 


And on it put a steeple. 


As well as making whiskey ; 


His father was a Gallagher ; 


No wonder that the saint himself 


His mother was a Brady ; 


Should understand distilling. 


His aunt was an O'Shaughness}', 


Since his mother kept a shebeen shop 


Ilis uncle an O'Grady. 


In the town of Enniskillen. 


So, success attend St. Pati'icJc'sJist, 


So, success attend St. Patricia's fist, 


For keh a saint so clever ; 


For he''s a saint so clever ; 


Ok ! he gave the snaJces and toads a ticist, 


Oh ! he gave the snal:esand toads a twist, 


And hoihcred ihcm for ever ! 


And lathered them for ever 1 \ 


59 





434 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Oh. ! was I but so fortunate 

As to be back iu Munster, 
'T is I 'd be bound that from that ground 

I never more would once stir. • 
For there St, Patrick planted turf, 

And plenty of the praties, 
With pigs galore, ma gra, ma 'store, 

And cabbages — and ladies ! 
Tlien my Messing on St. PatricTcs Jist, 

For he 's the darling saint oh ! 
Oh ! he gave the snalces and, toads a tioist; 

IIe''s a l)eauty without paint oh! 

IlENnY Bennett. 



ST. PATRICK OF IRELAND, MY DEAR! 

A FIG for St. Denis of France — 

He 's a trumpery fellow to brag on ; 
A fig for St. George and his lance, 

Which spitted a heathenish dragon ; 
And the saints of tlie Welshman or Scot 

Are a couple of pitiful pipers, 
Both of whom may just travel to pot. 

Compared with that patron of swipers — 
St. Patrick of Ireland, my dear ! 



Ho came to the Emerald Isle 

On a lump of a paving-stone mounted ; 
The steamboat he beat by a mile, 

Which mighty good sailing was counted. 
Says he, "The salt water, I think. 

Has made me most bloodily thirsty 
So bring me a flagon of drink 

To keep down the mulligrubs, burst ye! 
Of drink that is fit for a saint ! " 

lie preached, then, with wonderful force, 

The ignorant natives a-teaching; 
With a pin-t he washed down his discourse, 

" For," says he, " I detest your dry preach- 
ing." 
riie people, Avith Avonderment struck 

At a pastor so pious and civil. 
Exclaimed — "We 're for you, my old buck ! 

i^nd we pitch our blind gods to the devil, 
W'ho dwells in hot water below ! " 



This ended, our worshipful spoon 

W^eut to visit an elegant fellow, 
Whose practice, each cool afternoon, 

Was to get most delightfully mellow. 
That day, with a black-jack of beer, 

It chanced he was treating a party ; 
Says the saint — " This good day, do you lieai 

I drank nothing to speak of, my hearty ! 
So give me a pull at the pot ! " 

The pewter he lifted in sport 

(Believe me, I tell you no fable) ; 
A gallon he drank from the quart. 

And then jDlaeed it full on the table, 
"A miracle! " every one said — 

And they all took a haul at the stingo ; 
They Avere capital hands at the trade, 

And drank till they fell ; yet, by jingo, 

Tlie pot still frothed over the brim ! 

Next day, quoth his host, " 'T is a fast, 

And I 've nought in my larder but mutton : 
And on Fridays Avho 'd make such repast. 

Except an unchristian-like glutton ? " 
Says Pat, " Cease your nonsense, I beg — 

What you tell me is nothing but gammon , 
Take my compliments down to the leg, 

And bid it come hither a salmon ! " 

And the leg most politely complied. 

You 've heard, I suppose, long ago, 

HoAV the snakes, in a. manner most antic. 
He marched to the county Mayo, 

And trundled them into th' Atlantic, 
Hence, not to use Avater for drink. 

The people of Ireland determine — 
With mighty good reason, I think. 

Since St. Patrick has filled it with vermin, 
And vipers, and such other stuff! 

Oh I he Avas an elegant blade 
As you 'd meet from Fairhead to Kilcrum- 
per ; 
And though under the sod he is laid, 

Yet here goes his health in a bumper 1 
I Avish he Avas here, that my glass 

He might by art magic replenish ; 
But since he is not — Avhy, alas! 
My ditty must come to a finish, — 
Because all tlie liquor is out ! 

William Mag inn. 



THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 



THE lEISUMAN. 



There was a lady lived at Leith, 

A lady very stylish, man— 
And yet, in spite of all her teeth, 
She fell in love with an Irishman— 
A nasty, ugly Irishman— 
A wild, tremendous Irishman— 
A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, 
ranting, roaring Irishman. 



His face was no ways beautiful, 

For with small-pox 'twas scarred across; 
And the shoulders of the ugly dog 
Were alriost double a yard across. 
Oh, the lump of an Irishman- 
The whiskey devouring Irishman— 
i'be great he-rogue with his wonderful brogue 
—the fighting, rioting Irishman! 




He 'd not rest till he filled it full again ; 

The boozing, bruising Irishman- 

The 'toxicated Irishman — 
The whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, 
no dandy Irishman. 



This was the lad the lady loved, 

Like all the girls of quality ; 
And he broke the skulls of the men of 
Leith, 
Just by the way of jollity; 

Oh, the leathering Irishman 

The barbarous, savage Irishman— 
The hearts of the maids and the gentlemen's 
heads were bothci-ed I'm sure by this 
Irishman. 

William Maginn. 



III. 
One of his eyes was bottle green. 

And the other eye was out, my dear; 
And the calves of his wicked-looking legs 
Were more than two feet about, my dear 
Oh, tlie great big Ii-ishman— 
The rattling, battling Irishman— 
Tiie stamping, ramping, swaggering, stagger- 
ing, leathering swash of an Irishman. 

IV. 

He took so much of Lnndy-foot 

That he used to snort and snuffle oh ; 
And in shape and size the fellow's neck 
Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo. 

Oh, the horrible Irishman 

The thundering, blundering Irishman— 
The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, 
thrashing, hashing Irishman. 



His name was a terrible name, indeed, 

IJeing Timothy Thady Mulligan ; 
And whenever he emptied his tumbler of 
punch 



THE GROVES OF BLAR>s^ET. 

The groves of Blarney they look so charming, 
L)own by the purlings of sweet silent 
brooks — 

All decked by posies, that spontaneous gro^v 
there. 
Planted in order in the rocky nooks. 

'Tis there the daisy, and the sweet carnation, 
The blooming pink, and the rose so fair ; 

Likewise the lily, and the daffodilly- 
All flowers that scent the sweet, open air. 

'Tis Lady Jeffers owns this plantation, 
Like Alexander, or like Helen fair ;' 

There 's no commander in all the nation 

^ For regulation can with her compare. 

Such walls surround her, that no nine-poundet 
Could ever plunder her place of strength ; 

But Oliver Cromwell, lie did her pommel, ' 
And made a breach in her battlement. ' 

There's gravel walks there for speculation, 

And conversation in sweet solitude • 
'Tis there the lover may hear the dove, or 

The- gentle plover, in the afternoon. ' 
And if a young lady should be so engaging 

As to walk alone in those shady bowers^ 
'Tis there her courtier he may transport her 

In some dark fort, or under the ground. 



^ 



436 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



For 'tis there's the cave where no dayhght 
enters, 

But bats and badgers are for ever bred ; 
Behig mossed by natar', that makes it sweeter 

Than a coach and sis, or a feather bed, 
'Tis there's the hxkc that is stored with 
perches, 

And comely eels in the verdant mud ; 
Besides the leeches, and the groves of beeches, 

All standing in order for to guard the flood. 

'T is there 's the kitchen hangs many a flitch 
in, 

"With the maids a-stitcliiag upon the stair ; 
The bread and biske', the beer and whiskey, 

"Would make you frisky if you were there. 
'T is there you 'd see Peg Murphy's daughter 

A washing praties forenent the door, 
"^'ith Roger Clcary, and Father llealy, 

All blood relations to my Lord Douough- 
more. 

There 's statues gracing this noble place in, 

All heathen goddesses so fair — 
Bold Neptune, Plutarch, and Nicodemus, 

AU standing naked in the open air. 
So now to finish this brave narration, 

"Which my poor geni' could not entwine ; 
Bat were 1 Homer, or Nebuchadnezzar, 

'T is in every feature I would make it shine. 

lllCnARD AlFKED MlLLIKlN, 



THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 

Ye genii of the nation. 

Who look with veneration, 
And Irehxnd's desolation onsaysingly deplore, 

Ye sons of Gineral Jackson, 

Who thrample on the Saxon, 
Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon 
shore. 

"When "William, Duke of Schunibug, 
A tyrant and a humbug, 
Y\'ith cannon and with thunder on our city 
bore. 
Our fortitude and valliance 
lusthructed his battalions. 
To rispict the galliant Irish upon Shannon 
shore. 



Since that capitulation, 

No city in the nation 
So grand a reputation could boast before. 

As Limerick prodigious. 

That stands with quays and bridges. 
And ships up to the windies of the Shannon 
shore. 

A chief of ancient line, 
'Tis "William Smith O'Brine, 
Reprisints this darling Limerick this ten years 
or more ; 
Oh the Saxons can't endure 
To see him on the flure, 
And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon 
shore ! 

This valiant son of Mars 

Had been to visit Par's, 
That land of revolution, that grows the tri- 
color ; 

And to welcome his return 

From pilgrimages i'urren. 
We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore. 

Then we summoned to our board 
Young Meagher of the sword ; 
'T is he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon 
gore ; 
And Mitcliil of Belfast 
We bade to our repast. 
To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon 
shore. 

Convaniently to liould 
Tbp=e patriots so bould, 
We took the opportunity of Tim Doolan's 
store ; 
And with oruamints and banners 
(As becomes gintale good manners) 
We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon 
shore. 

'T would biuifit your sowls 

To see the butthered roAvls, 
The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and eraim 
galyore, 

And the muflSns and the crumpets, 

And the band of harps and thrumpets, 
To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore. 



THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK, 



437 



Sure the iinperor of Bohay 
"Wordd be proud to dthrink the tay 
That Misthrcss Biddy Rooneyfor O'Brine did 
pour ; 
And, since the days of Strongbow, 
There never was such Congo — 
Mitchil dthrank sis quarts of it — by Shannon 
shore. 

But Clarndon and Corry 
Connellan beheld this sworry 
With rage and imulation in their black hearts' 
core ; 
And they hired a gang of rufSns 
To interrupt tiie muflins, 
And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shan- 
non sliore. 

"When full of tay and cake, 

O'Brine began to spake, 
But juice a one could hera* hira, for a sudden 
roar 

Of a ragamuffin rout 

Began to yell and shout, 
^^nd frighten the propriety of Shannon shore. 

As Smith O'Brine harangued. 
They batthercd and tliey banged; 
Tim Doolan's doors and windies down they 
tore ; 
They smashed the lovely windies 
(Hung with muslin from the Indies), 
Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon 
shore. 

With throwing of brickbats, 
Drowned puppies and dead rats. 

These ruffin democrats themselves did lower ; 
Tin kettles, rotten eggs. 
Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs. 

They flung among the patriots of Shannon 
shore. 

Oh, the girls began to scrame. 
And upset the milk and crarae ; 
And the honorable jintlemin they cursed and 
swore : 
And Mitchil of Belfast, 
'T was he that looked aghast, 
^lien they roasted him in eflSgy by Shannon 
shore. 



Oh, the lovely lay was spilt 
On that day of Ireland's guilt ; 
Says Jack Mitchil, " I am kilt! Boys, where 's 
the back door ? 
'T is a national disgtace ; 
Let me go and veil me face ! " 
And he boulted with quick pace from the 
Shannon shore. 

"Cut down the bloody horde ! " 
Says Meagher of the sword, 
"This conduct would disgrace any blacka- 
moor ; " 
But millions were arrayed. 
So he shaythed his battle-blade, 
Eethrayting undismayed from the Shannon 
shore. 

Immortal Smith O'Brine 
Was raging like a line ; 
'T would have done your sowl good to have 
heard him roar ; 
In his glory he arose, 
And he rushed upon his foes, 
But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon 
shore. 

Then the futt and the dthragoons 

In squadthrons and platoons. 
With their music playing chuues, down upon 
us bore ; 

And they bate the rattatoo, 

And the Peelers came in view, 
And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore. 

William Makepeace Thackekay. 



MOLOX Y'S LAMENT. 

Tim, did you hear of thim Saxons, 

And read what the peepers repoort ? 
They 're goan to rccal the liftinant, 

And shut up the castle and coort! 
Our desolate counthry of Oireland 

They 're bint, the blagyards, to desthroy ; 
And now, having murdthered our counthry, 

They 're goin to kill the viceroy, 
Dear boy ! — 

'T was he was our proide and our joy. 



438 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



And will we no louger beliouM liim, 

Surrounding his carriage in throngs, 
As he weaves his cocked hat from the win- 
dies, 

And smiles to his hould aid-de-cougs | 
I liked for to see the young haroes, 

All shoining with sthripes and with stars, 
A horsing about in the Phaynix, 

And wiuking tlie girls in the cyars — 
Like Mars, 

A sinoldu' their poipes and cigyars, 

Dear Mitchel, exoiled to Bermudies, 

Your beautiful oilids you'll ope! — 
And there '11 be an abondance of croyin 

From O'Brine at the Keep of Good Hope — 
When they read of this news in the peepers, 

Acrass the Atlantical wave, 
That the last of the Oirish hftinants 

Of th*oisland of Seents has tuck lave. 
God save 

The queen — she should betther behave ! 

And what 's to become of poor Dame sthreet, 

And who '11 ait the puffs and the tarts, 
Tallin the coort of iraparial splindor 

From Dobliu's sad city departs ? 
And who '11 have the fiddlers and pipers 

When the deuce of a coort there remains ; 
And where '11 be the bucks and the ladies, 

To hire tlie coort-shuits and the thrains ? 
In sthrains 

It's thus that ould Erin complains! 

There's Counsellor Flanagan's Icedy, 

'T was she in the coort didn't fail. 
And she wanted a plinty of popplin 

For her dthress, and her flounce, and her 
tail ; 
She bought it of Misthress O'Grady — 

Eight shillings a yard tabinet — 
But now that the coort is concluded 

The divvle a yard will she get : 
I bet, 

Bedad, that she wears the old set. 

There 's Sui-geon O'Toole and Miss Leary, 
They 'd daylings at Madam O'Eiggs' ; 

Each year, at the dthrawing-room sayson. 
They mounted the natest of wigs. 



When spring, with its bads and its daisies. 
Comes out in her beauty and bloom, 

Thim tu '11 never think of new jasies, 
Because there is no dthrawing-room, 

For whom 
They'd choose the expense to ashume. 

There 's Alderman Toad and his lady, 

'Twas they gave the dart and-the poort. 
And the poine-apples, turbots, and lobsters, 

To feast the lord liftinant's coort. 
But now that the quality 's goin, 

I warnt that the aiting will stop. 
And you 'U get at the alderman's teeble 

The divvle a bite or a dthrop. 
Or chop. 

And the butcher may shut up his shop. 

Yes, the grooms and the ushers are goin ; 

And his lordship, the dear, honest man : 
And the duchess, his eemiable leedy ; 

And Corry, the bould Connellan ; 
And little Lord Hyde and the childthren ; 

And the chewter and governess tu ; 
And the servants are packing their boxes — 

Oh, murther, but what shall I due 
Without you ? 

O Meery, with ois of the blue ! 

"William Makepeace Thackeray. 



MR. MOLOXY'S ACCOUNT OF THE 
BALL 

GIVEX TO THE NEPAtJLESE AMBASSADOE BY THE 
PENINSULAR AND 'FXENTAL COMPANY. 

On will ye choose to hear the news ? 

Bedad, I cannot pass it o'er : 
I'll tell you all about the ball 

To the Naypanlase ambassador. 
Begor ! this fete all balls does bate 

At which I worn a pump, and I 
Must here relate the splcndthor great 

Of th' Oriental company. 

These men of sinse dispoised expinse, 

To fete these black Acliillcses. 
"We'll show the blacks," says they, "Al- 
mack's. 

And take the rooms at Willis's." 



THE RAIL. 



439 



With flags and shawls, for these Ncpauls, 

They hung the rooms of "WiUis np, 
And decked the walls, and stah-s, and halls, 

Witli roses and with lilies uji. 
And Jullien's band it tack its stand, 

So sweetly in the middle there, 
And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes, 

And violins did fiddle there. 
And when the coort was tired of spoort, 

I 'd lave you, boys,^o think there was 
A nate buffet before them set. 

Where lashins of good dhrink there was ! 

At ten, before the ball-room door 

His moighty excellency was ; 
He sraoiled and bowed to all the crowd — 

So gorgeous and immense he was. 
His dusky shuit, sublime and mute, 

Into the door-way followed him ; 
And oh the noise of the blackguard boys. 

As they hurrood and hollowed him ! 

The noble chair stud at the stair. 

And bade the dthrums to thump ; and he 
Did thus evince to that black prince 

The welcome of his company. 
Oh fair the girls, and rich the curls, 

And bright the oys you saw there, was ; 
And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi, 

On Gineral Jung Bahawther was ! 

This gineral great then tuck his sate, 

"With all the other ginerals, 
(Bedad, his troat, his belt, his coat. 

All bleezed with precious minerals;) 
And as he there, with princely air, 

Eecloiniii on his cushion was, 
All round about his royal chair 

The squeezin and the pushin was. 

Pat, such girls, such jukes and earls, 

Such fashion and nobilitee ! 
Just think of Tim, and fancy him 

Amidst the hoigh gentility ! 
There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Porty- 
geese 

Ministher and his lady there ; 
A.nd I reckonized, with much surprise. 

Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there. 



There was Baroness Brunow, that looked 
like Juno, 

And Baroness Rehausen there. 
And Countess Pioullier, that looked peculiar 

Well In her robes of gauze, in there. 
There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first 

When only Mr. Pips he was). 
And Mick 'Toole, the great big fool, 

That after supper tipsy was. 

There was Lord Fingall and his ladies all, 

And Lords Killeen and Dufferin, 
And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife— 

I wondther how he could stuff her in. 
There was Loi-d Belfast, that by me past, 

And seemed to ask how should I go there; 
And the widow Macrae, and Lord A. Hay, 

And the m archioness of Sligo there. 

Yes, jukes and earls, and diamonds and pearls, 

And pretty girls, was spoorting there ; 
And some beside (the rogues !) I spied 

Behind the windies, coorting there. 
Oh, there 's one I know, bedad, wcmld show 

As beautiful as any there ; 
And I 'd like to hear the pipers blow, 

And shake a fut with Fanny there ! 

William Makepeace THACKERix. 



THE BAIL. 

I WET him" in the cars. 
Where resignedly he sat ; 

His hair was full of dust. 
And so was his cravat ; 

He was furthermore embellished 
By a ticket in his hat. 

The conductor touched his arm, 
And awoke him from a nap ; 

When he gave the feeding flies 
An admonitory slap. 

And his ticket to the man 
In the yellow-lettered cap. 

So, launching into talk. 
We rattled on our vv^ay, 

With allusions to the crops 
That along the meadows lay — 

Whereupon his eyes were lit 
With a speculative ray. 



440 P E M S F 


COMEDY. 




The heads of naany men 




Were bobbing as hi sleep, 


ST. ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE 




And many babies lifted 


FISHES. 




Their voices up to weep ; 
"While the coal-dust darkly fell 
On bonnets in a heap. 


St. Anthony at church 
Was left in the lurch, 
So he went to the ditches 




All the while the swaying cars 


And preached to the fishes ; 




Kept rumbling o'er the rail, 
And the frequent whistle sent 


They wriggled their tails. 

In the sun glanced their scales. 




Shrieks of anguish to the gale. 
And the cinders pattered down 
On the grimy iloor like hail. 


The carps, with their spawn, 
Are all hither drawn ; 
Have opened their jaws, 




When suddenly a jar. 

And a thrice-repeated bump. 
Made the people in alarm 


Eager for each clause. 
No sermon beside 
Had the carps so edified. 




From their easy cushions jump ; 
For they deemed the sounds to be 
The inevitable trump. 


Sharp-snouted pikes, 

Who keep fighting like tikes, 

Now swam up harmonious 




A splintering crash below, 

A doom-foreboding twitch. 
As the tender gave a lurch 


To hear St. Antonius. 
No sermon beside 
Had the pikes so edified. 




Beyond the flying switch — 


And that very odd fish. 




And a mangled mass of men 


Who loves fast days, the cod-fish, — 




Lay writhing in the ditch. 


The stock-fish, I mean, — 
At the sermon was seen. 




With a palpitating heart 


No sermon beside 




My friend essayed to rise ; 


Had the cods so edified. 




There were bruises on his limbs 






And stars before his eyes, 


Good eels and sturgeon, 




And his lace was of the hue 


"U'hich aldermen gorge on. 




Of the dolphin when it dies. 


Went out of their way 

To hear preaching that day. 




* * * * 


No sermon beside 




I was very well content 


Had the eels so edified. 




In escaping with my life ; 
But my mutilated friend 

Commenced a legal strife- 
Being thereunto incited 

By his lawyer and his wife. 


Crabs and turtles also. 
Who always move slow. 
Made haste from the bottom, 
As if the devil had got 'em. 
No sermon beside 




And he writes me the result, 


Had the crabs so edified. 




In his quiet way as follows : 


Fish great and fish small. 




That his case came up before 


Lords, lackeys, and all. 




A bench of legal scholars, 


Eacii looked at tlie preacher, 




Who awarded him his claim, 


Like a reasonable creature : 




Of $1500 ! 


At God's word. 




Geokge H. Clark. 


They Anthony heard. . 





THE YlCiVr 


1 

. OF BtvAY. 441 


The sermon now ended, 


Passive obedience was a joke, 


Each turned and descended ; 


A jest was non-resistance. 


The pikes went on stealing, 


A7id this is law that IHlmaintain 


The eels went on eeling ; 


Until my dying day, sir, 


Much dcliglitod were they. 


That lohatsoever Icing shall reign, 


But preferred the old way. 


Still I HI he the vicar of Bray, sir. 


The crabs are backsliders, 




The stock-fisli thick-siders, 


When royal Anne became our queen. 


7 

The carps are sharp-set. 


The church of England's glory, 


All the sermon forget ; 


Another face of things was seen 


Much delighted were they, 


And I became a tory ; 


But preferred the old way. 


Occasional conformists base, 


Anoktmous. 


I blam'd their moderation ; 


And thought the church in danger was. 


^ 


By such prevarication. 






And this is laic that IHl maintain, 


THE VIOAPw OF BRAY. 


Until my dying day, sir, 




Tliat lohatsoever Icing shall reign, 


In good King Charles's golden days, 


Still I HI he the vicar of Bray, sir. 


"When loyalty no harm meant, 




A zealous high-churchman was I, 




And so I got preferment. 


When George in pudding-tnne came o'er, 


To teach my flock I never missed : 


And moderate men looked big, sir. 


Kings were by God appointed, 


My principles I changed once more, 


And lost are those that dare resist 


And so became a whig, sir ; 


Or touch the Lord's anointed. 


And thus preferment I procured 


And this is laio that IHl maintain 


From our new foith's defender; 


Until my dying day^ sir, 


And almost every day abjured 


That tchafsoever king sJiall reign, 


The pope and the pretender. 


Still III he the vicar of Bray, sir. 


And this is laic that IHl maintain, 




Until my dying day, sir, 


When royal James possessed the crown. 


Tliat lohatsoever Tcing shall reign. 


And popery grew in fashion. 


Still IHl he tlie vicar of Bray, sir. 


The penal laws I hooted down, 




And read the declaration ; 


Th' illustrious house of Hanover, 


The Church of Rome I found would fit 


And Protestant succession, 


Full well my constitution ; 


To these I do allegiance swear — 


And I had been a Jesuit, 


While they can keep possession : 


But for the revolution. 


For in my faith and loyalty 


And this is law that IHlmaintain 


I never more will falter, 


Until my dying day, sir, 


And George my lawful king shall be — 


That iohaisoever Icing shall 7'eign, 


Until the times do alter. 


Still I HI he the vicar of Bray, sir. 


And this is laio that IHl maintain 




Until my dying day, sir. 




Tliat whatsoever king shall reign, 


When William was our king declared, 


Still IHl he the vicar of Bray, sir. 


To ease the nation's grievance ; 






Anonymous. 


Witli this new Avind about I steered. 




And swore to him allegiance ; 
Old principles I did revoke, 






Set conscience at a distance ; 
60 





442 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE VIOAR. 

Some years ago, ere tim-e aud taste 

Had turned our parisli topsy-turvy, 
When Darnel park v/as Darnel waste, 

And roads as little known as scurvy, 
The man Avho lost his way between 

St, Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket 
Was always shown across the green, 

Aud guided to the parson's wicket. 

Back flew the bolt of lissom lath; 

Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, 
Led the lorn traveller up the path, 

Through clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle ; 
And Don, and Sancho, Tramp and Tray, 

Upon the parlor steps collected, 
"Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say, 

" Our master knows you ; you 're expected." 

Up rose the reverend Doctor Brown, 

Up rose the doctor's " winsome marrow;" 
The lady laid her knitting down. 

Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow. 
Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed, 

Pundit or papist, saint or sinner. 
He found a stable for his steed. 

And welcome for himself, aud dinner. 

If, when he reached his journey's end. 

And warmed himself in court or college, 
He had not gained an honest friend. 

And twenty curious scraps of knowledge ; 
If he departed as he came. 

With no new light on love or liquor, 
Good sooth, the traveller was to blame. 

And not the vicarage or the vicar. 

His talk was like a stream which nms 

With rapid change from rocks to roses ; 
It slipped from politics to pirns ; 

It passed trom Mahomet to Moses ; 
Beginning with the laws which keep 

The planets in theu- radiant courses. 
And ending with some precept deep 

For dressing eels or shoeing horses. 

He was a shrewd and sound divine. 
Of loud dissent the mortal terror ; 

And when, by dint of page and line. 
He 'stablished truth or startled error. 



The Baptist found him far too deep. 
The Deist sighed with saving sorrow, 

And the lean Levit;e went to sleep 

And dreamt of eating pork to-morrow. 

His sermon never said or showed 

That earth is foul, that heaven is gracious, 
Without refreshment on the road, 

From Jerome or from Athanasius ; 
And sure a righteous zeal inspired 

The hand and head that penned and planned 
them. 
For all who understood admired, 

Aud some who did not understand them. 

He wrote too, in a quiet way. 

Small treatises, and smaller verses, 
And sage remarks on chalk and clay, 

And hints to noble lords and nurses; 
True histories of last year's gliost; 

Lines to a ringlet or a turban ; 
And trifles for the "Morning Post; " 

And nothings for Sylvanus Urban, 

He did not think all mischief fair, 

Although he had a knack of joking; 
He did not make himself a bear. 

Although he had a taste for smoking ; 
And when religious sects ran mad. 

He held, in spite of all his learning. 
That if a man's belief is bad. 

It will not be improved by burning. 

And he was kind, and loved to sit 

In the low hut or garnished cottage. 
And praise the farmer's homely wit. 

And share the widow's homelier pottage.. 
At his approach complaint grew mild, 

And when his hand unbarred the shutter 
The clammy lips of fever smiled 

The welcome that they could not utter. 

He always had a tale for me 

Of Julius Cffisar or of Venus ; 
From him I learned the rule of three, 

Cat's-cradle, leap-frog, and Quce genus. 
I used to singe his powdered wig. 

To steal the staff" he put such trust in, 
And make the puppy dance a jig 

W' hen 'he began to quote Augustine. 



TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE. 



443 



Alack, the cbange ! In vain I look 

For haunts in which my boyhood trifled ; 
The level lawn, the trickling brook, 

The trees I climbed, the beds T rifled ! 
Tlie church is larger than before, 

You reach it by a carriage entry ; 
It holds three hundred people more, 

And pews are fitted for the gentry. 

Sit in the vicar's seat; you '11 hear 

The doctrine of a gentle Jobnian, 
Whose hand is white, whose voice is clear. 

Whose tone is very Ciceronian. 
Where is the old man laid? Look down 

And construe on the slab before you— 
'■'■ Ilic jacet Guliehnus Broicn^ 

Vir mdld non donandus lauro.'''' 

WiNTUEOP Mackwoeth Pkaed. 



TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NIXE. 

I HEAED a sick man's dying sigh, 

And an infant's idle laughter : 
The old year went with mourning by — 

The new came dancing after ! 
Let sorrow shed her lonely tear — 

Let revelry hold ber ladle ; 
Bring boughs of cypress for the bier — 

Fling roses on the cradle ; 
Mutes to wait on the funeral state, 

Pages to pour the wine : 
A requiem for twenty-eight, 

And a health to twenty-nine ! 

Alas for human happiness! 

Alas for human sorrow ! 
Our yesterday is nothingness — 

What else will be our morrow ? 
Still beauty must be stealing hearts, 

A ud knavery stealing purses ; 
Still cooks nmst live by making tarts, 

And wits by making verses ; 
While sages prate, and courts debate. 

The same stars set and shine ; 
And the world, as it rolled through twen- 
ty-eight, 

^lust roll through twenty-nine. 

Some king will come, in Heaven's good 
time. 
To the tomb his father came to ; 



Some thief will wade through blood and 
crime 

To a crown he has no claim to ; 
Some suffering land will rend in twain 

The manacles that bound her, 
And gather the links of the broken chain 

To fasten them proudly round her ; 
The grand and great will love and hate, 

And combat and combine ; 
And much where we were in twenty-eight, 

We shall be in twenty-nine. 

O'Connell will toil to raise the rent, 

And Kenyon to sink the nation ; 
And Shiel will abuse the Parliament, 

And Peel the association ; 
And thought of bayonets and swords 

Will make ex-chancellors merry ; 
And jokes will be cut in the house of 
lords, 

And throats in the county of Kerry ; 
And writers of weight will speculate 

On the cabinet's design ; 
And just what it did in twenty-eight 

It will do in twenty-nine. 

And the goddess of love will keep her 
smiles. 

And the god of cups his orgies ; 
And there '11 be riots in St. Giles, 

And weddings in St. George's: 
And mendicants will sup like kings, 

And lords will swear like lacqueys: 
And black eyes oft will lead to rings, 

And rings will lead to black eyes ; 
And pretty Kate will scold her mate, 

In a dialect all divine ; 
Alas ! they married in twenty-eight, 

They will part in twenty-nine. 

My imcle will swathe his gouty limbs, 

And talk of his oils and blubbers ; 
My aunt. Miss Dobbs, wUl play longer 
hymns, 

And rather longer rubbers : 
My cousin in Parliament will prove 

How utterly ruined trade is ; 
My brother, at Eton, will fall in love 

With half a hundred ladies ; 



444 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



My patron will sate liis pride from plate, 
And bis tliirst from Bordeaux wine — 

Ilis nose was red in twenty-eight, 
'T will be redder in twenty-nine. 

x\nd oil ! I sball find bow, day by day, 
All tbougbts and tbings look older — 

IIow tbe laugb of pleasure grows less gay, 
And tbe beart of friendsbip colder; 



But still I sball be wbat I bave been, 

Sworn foe to Lady Reason, 
And seldom troubled witb tbe spleen, 

And fond of talking treason ; 
I sball buckle roy skate, and leap my gate, 

And tbrow and write my line ; 
And the woman I worshipped in twenty- 
eight 

I shall worship in twenty-nine. 

"WlKTIIKOP MaCKWOKTD PbAED. 



PART YIL 

POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW, 



The mournful fiiueral slow proceeds behind, 
An-aj'ed in black, the heavy head declined ; 
Wide yawns the grave ; dull tolls the solemn bell; 
Dark lie the dead ; and long the last farewell. 
There music sounds, and dancers shake the hall ; 
But here the silent tears incessant fall. 
Kre Mirth can well her comedy begin. 
The tragic demon oft comes thundering in. 
Confounds the actors, damps the merry show, 
Aiid turns the loudest laugh to deepest woe. 

John "Wilson. 



rOEMS OF TEAGEDY AXD SOEIIOW. 


SIR PATRICK SPENS. 


They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn 




Wi' a' the speed they may ; 


The king sits in Dunfermline town, 


They hae landed in Noroway 


Drinking the blude-red wine : 


Upon a Wodensday. 


" Oh wliere will I get a skcely skipper 




To sail this new ship of unne? " 


They hadna been a week, a week 




In Noroway, but twae. 


Oh up and spake an eldern knight, 


When that the lords o' Noroway 


Sat at the king's right knee : 


Began aloud to say : 


"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor 




That ever sailed the sea.*' 


" Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd 




And a' our queenis fee." 


Oin king has written a braid letter, 


"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! 


And sealed it with his hand, 


Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! 


And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, 




Was walking on the strand. 


" For I hae brought as much white monie 




As gane my men and me, — 


" To ISToroAvay, to Noroway, 


And I hae brought a half-fou o' gude red 


To Noroway o'er the faem ; 


gowd 


The king's dangliter of Noroway, 


Out owre the sea wi' me. 


'T is thou maun bring her hame !" 






"Make ready, make ready, my merry 


The first word that Sir Patrick read, 


men a' ! 


Sae loud, loud laughed he ; 


Our gude ship sails the morn." 


Tlie neist word that Sir Patrick read, 


" Now, ever alake ! my master dear, 


The tear blindit his e'e. 


I fear a deadly storm ! 


" Oh wha is tliis has done this deed. 


" I saw the new moon, late yestreen, 


And tauld the king o' me, 


Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; 


To send us out at this time of the year. 


And if we gang to sea, master. 


To sail upon the sea ? 


I fear we '11 come to harm." 


"Be it wind' bo it wcct, be it hail, be it 


They hadna sailed a league, a league, 


sleet. 


A league, but barely three. 


Our ship must sail the facui ; 


When the lift grew dark, and the wind 


The king's daughter of Noroway, 


blew loud, 


'T is we must fetch her hame." 


And gurly grew tlie sea. 



448 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Tlie aukei-s brnk, and the topmasts lap, 

It was sic a deadly storm ;. 
And the waves came o'er the broken ship 

Till a' her sides were torn. 

• Oh where will I get a gude sailor 

To take my helm in hand, 
Till I get up to the tall topmast 

To see if I can spy land ? " 

" Oh hero am I, a sailor gndo, 

To take the helm in hand, 
Till you go up to the tall topmast, — 

But I fear yon '11 ne'er spy land." 

He hadna gane a step, a step, 

A step, but barely ane, 
^Yhen a boult Hew out of our goodly ship, 

Aiad the salt sea it came in. 

" Gae fetcli a web o' the silken claith. 

Another o' the twine, 
And wap them into our ship's side, 

And letna the sea come in." 

I'liey fetched a web o' the silken claith. 

Another o' the twine, 
And they wapped them roun' that gude 
ship's side, 

— Pint still the sea came in. 

Oh laith, laith Avere our gude Scots lords 
To weet their cork-heeled shoon ! 

But lang or a' the play was played, 
Tliey wat their hats aboon. 

And mony was the feather-bed 

That floated on the faem ; 
And mony was the gude lord's son 

That never mair came hame. 

'I'he ladyes wrang tlieir fingers white, — 

The maidens tore their hair ; 
A' for the sake of their true loves, — 

For them they '11 see na mair. 

Oh lang, lang may the ladyes sit, 
"Wi' their fans into their hand, 

Before tliey see Sir Patrick Spens 
Come sailing to the strand ! 



And lang lang may the maidens sit, 
Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair, 

A' waiting for their ain dear loves, — 
For them they '11 see na mair. 

Oh forty miles olf Aberdour 

'T is fifty fathoms deep. 
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens 

W-' the Scots lords at his feet. 

Anonymous. 



CHILD NORYCE. 

CniLD NoETOE is a clever young man^ 

He wavers wi' the wind ; 
His horse was silver shod before, 

With the beaten gold behind. 

He called to his little man John, 
Saying, " Yon don't see what I see ; 

For oh yonder I see the very first woman 
That ever loved me. 

"Here is a glove, a glove," he said, 

" Lined with the silver gray ; 
You may tell her to come to the merry 
green wood, 

To speak to child ISTory, 

" Here is a ring, a ring," he says, 

"It's all gold but the stane ; 
You may tell her to come to the merry 
green wood. 

And ask the leave o' nane." 

" So well do I love your errand, my master, 
But far better do I love my life ; 

Oh would ye have me go to Lord Barnard'E" 
caste], 
To betray away his wife ? " 

"Oh don't I give yon meat," he says, 

"And do n't I pay you fee? 
IIow dare you stop my errand ? " he says ; 

"My orders you must obey." 
» 
Oh when he came to Lord Barnard's castel. 

He tinkled at the ring ; 
Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself 

To let this little boy in 2 



FAIR ANNIE OF LOCIIROYAN. Wj 


" Hero is ;i glove, a glove," ho says, 


" Oh wae be to thee. Lady Margaret," he 


"Lined with the silver gray; 


said, 


You are bidden to come to the merry green 


" And an ill death may you die ; 


wood, 


For if you had told me he was your son. 


To speak to Child Nory. 


He had ne'er been slain by me." 




i\N0NYM0U8. 


" Here is a ring, a ring," he says, 
"It 's all gold but th'e stane: 




* 


You are bidden to come to the merry green 




wood, 


FAIE ANNIE OF LOCHEOYAf . 


And ask the leave o' naue." 




Lord Uarnard he was standing by. 


" On wha will shoe my fair foot, 
And -wha will glove my ban' ? 


And an angry man was he : 
" Oh little did I think there was a lord in 
this world 


And wha will lace my middle jimp 
Wi' a new made London ban' ? 


My lady loved but me ! " 


" Or wha will kerab my yellow hair 


Oh he dressedhimselfin the Holland smocks, 

And garments that was gay ; 
And he is away to the merry green wood, 


Wi' a new-made silver kemb ? 
Or wha '11 be father to my young bairn, 
Till love Gregor come hame ? " 


To speak to Child jSTory. 


" Your father '11 shoe your fair foot. 


Child Noryce sits on yonder tree — 

He whistles and he sings : 
" Oh wae be to me," says Child ISToryce, 


Your mother glove your ban' ; 

Your sister lace your middle jimp 

Wi' a new-made London ban' ; 


"Yonder my mother comes ! " 


"Your brethren will kemb your yellow hair 


Child iSToryce he came off" the tree. 


"Wi' a new made silver kemb; 


His mother to take off the horse: 


And the king o' heaven will fatlier your 


" Och alace, alaceP'says Child Noryce, 


bairn. 


" My mother was ne'er so gross." 


Till love Gregor come hame." 


Lord Barnard he had a little small sword, 


" Oh gin I had a bonny ship, 


That hung low down by his knee ; 


And men to sail wi' me, 


He cut the head off Child Noryce, 


It 's I wad gang to my true love. 


And put the body on a tree. 


Sin he winna come to me! " 


And when he came to his castel. 


Her father 's gien her a bonny ship, 


And to his lady's hall. 


And sent her to the stran' ; 


He threw the head into her lap. 


She 's taen her young son in her arms, 


Saying, " Lady, there is a ball! ' 


And turned her back to the Ian,' 


She turned up the bloody head. 


She hadua been o' the sea sailin' 


She kissed it frae cheek to chin : 


About a month or more, 


"Far better do I love this bloody head 


Till landed has she her bonny ship 


Than all my royal kin. 


Near her true-love's door. 


" ^Y]len'I was in my father's castel. 


The nicht w^as dark, and the wind blew cald, 


In my virginitie. 


And her love was fast asleep, 


Tliere came a lord into the north. 


And the bairn that was in her twa arms 


Ciat Child Norvce Avith me." 


Fu' sair began to greet. 


01 





450 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW 



Lang stood she at her true love's door, 

And lang tirled at the pin ; 
At length np gat his fause mothei-, 

Says, " Wha's that wad be in? " 

" Oh it is Annie of Locliroyan, 

Your love, couie o'er the sea, 
IJut and your young son in her arms; 

^o open the door to me." 

" Awa, awa, ye ill woman ! 

You 're nae come here for gude ; 
You 're but a witch, or a vile warlock, 

Or mermaid o' the flude." 

"I'm nae a witch or vile warlock, 

Or mermaiden," said she ; — 
"I 'm but your Annie of Lochroyan; — 

Oh open the door to me ! " 

"Oh gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan, 

As I trust not ye be, 
What taiken can ye gie that e'er 

I kept your companie ? " 

" Oh dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says, 

" AVhan we sat at the wine. 
How we changed the napkins frae our 
necks ? 

It 's nae sae lang sinsyne. 

" And yours was gude, and gude enough. 

But nae sae gude as mine ; 
For yours was o' the cambrick clear. 

But mine o' the silk sae fine, 

" And dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she 
says, 

" As Ave twa sat at dine, 
IIoAv we changed the rings frae our fingers, 

And I can shcAV thee thine : 

" And yours Avas gude, and gude enough. 

Yet nae sae gude as mine ; 
For yours Avas o' the gude red gold. 

But mine o' the diamonds fine. 

" Sae open tlie door, iioav, love Gregor, 

And ypen it wi' speed ; 
Or your young son, that is in my arms. 

For cald Avill soon be dead." 



" Awa, awa, ye ill woman ! 

Gae frae my door for shame : 
For I hae gotten anitlier fair love— 

Sae ye may hie you hame." 

'•Oh hae ye gotten auither fair love. 

For a' the oaths ye sware ? 
Then fare ye Aveel, noAV, fause Gregor. 

For me ye's never see mair! " 

Oh hooly, hooly gaed she back, 

As the day began to peep ; 
She set her foot on good ship board, 

And sair, sair did she weep. 

" Tak down, tak doAvn the mast o' goud ; 

Set up the mast o' tree ; 
111 sets it a forsaken lady 

To sail sae gallantlie. 

" Tak doAvn, tak down the sails o' sillc ; 

Set up the sails o' skin ; 
111 sets the outside to be gay, 

Whan there 's sic grief Avithin ! " 

Love Gregor started frae his sleep, 

And to his mother did say : 
"I dreamt a dream this night, mitlier, 

That maks my heart richt Avae ; 

" I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan, 

The flower o' a' her kin, 
Was standin' mournin' at my door; 

But nane wad lat her in." 

■ Oh there Avas a Avomau stood at the door, 
Wi' a bairn intill her arms ; 
But I Avadna let her within the bower, 
For fear she had done you harm." 

Oh quickly, quickly raise lie up. 

And fast ran to the strand ; 
And there he saw her, fair Annie, 

Was sailing frae the land. 

And "heigh, Annie! " and " hoAA", Annie! 

O, Annie, winna ye bide? " 
But ay the louder that he cried " Annie," 

The higher raired the tide. 

And " heigh, Annie ! " and " how, Annie ! 

0, Annie, speak to me ! " 
But ay the louder that he cried " Annie," 

The louder raired the sea. 



THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 



451 



The Aviiul grew loud, ami the sea grew 
rough, 

And the ship was rent in twain ; 
And soon he saw her, fair Annie, 

Come floating o'er the main. 

lie saw his young son in her arms, 

Baith tossed aboon the tide ; 
He wrfing his hands, and fast he ran, 

And plunged in the sea sae wide. 

He oatched her by the yellow hair, 

And drew her to the strand ; 
But cald and stiff was every limb, 

Before he reached the land. 

Oh first he kist her cherry cheek, 

And syne he kist her chin : 
And sair he kist her ruby lips, 

But there was nae breath within. 

Oh lie has mourned o'er fair Annie, 
Till the sun was ganging down ; 

Syne wi' a sich his heart it brast, 
And his saul to heaven has flown. 

Anontmous. 



THE DOWIE DENS OF YAEEOW. 

Late at e'en, drinking the wine, 
And ere they paid the lawing, 

They set a combat them between, 
To fight it in the dawing. 

" Oh stay at hame, my noble lord ! 

Oh stay at hame, my marrow! 
My cruel brother will you betray 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow." 

" Oh fare ye weel, my ladye gaye ! 

Oh fare ye weel, my Sarah ! 
For I maun gae, though I ne'er return 

Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow." 

She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, 
As oft she had done betbrc, oh ; 

She belted him with his noble braud, 
^^nd he 's away to Yarrow. 



As he gaed up the Tennies bank, 

I wot he gaed wi' sorrow. 
Till, down in a den, he spied nine armed 
men, 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 

" Oh come ye here to part your laud, 

The bonnie forest thorough ? 
Or come ye here to wield your brand, 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow ? " — 

" I come not here to part my land. 
And neither to beg nor borrow ; 

I come to wield my noble brand, 
On the bonnie banks of Y''arrow. 

" If I see all, ye 're nine to ane ; 

And that 's an unequal marrow : 
Y^et will I fight, while lasts my brand, 

On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." 

Four has he hurt, and five has slain, 
On the bloody braes of Yarrow, 

Till that stubborn knight came him behind, 
And ran his body thorough. 

" Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, 

And tell your sister Sarah, 
To come and lift her leafu' lord ; 

He 's sleepin' sound on Yarrow." — 

" Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream: 

I fear there will be sorrow ! 
I dreamed I pu'd the heather green, 

Wi' niy true love, on Y''arrow. 

" gentle wind, that bloweth south. 
From where my love repaireth, 

Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, 
And tell me how he fareth ! 

" But in the glen strive armed men ; 

They 've wrought me dole and sorrow ; 
They 've slain — the comeliest knight they've 
slain — 

He bleeding lies on Yarrow." 

As she sped down yon high, high hill. 
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow, » 

And in the den spied ten slain men, 
On the dowie banks of Yarrow. 



io2 



rOEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



She kisscci his cheeks, she kivimed his hair, 
Sho searched his ■wouiuls all thorough ; 

She kissed them, till her lips grew red. 
On llie di)\vie houiiis ot" Yarrow. 

"Now hand your tongue, mv daughter 
dear! 

For a' this breeds but sorrow ; 
I '11 wed ye to a better lord. 

Than liirn yo lost on Yarrow." — 

" Oh haud your tongue, luy father dear ! 

Yo mind me b\it of sorrow ; 
A fairer rose did never bloom 

Than now lies cropjied on Yarrow." 

Anonymous. 



THE BlIAES OF YArvKOW. 

•• Ijitsk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonuie bride! 

IJu'sk YC, busk ye, my winsome marrow! 
Iiusk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride. 

And think nae nuiir of the braes of Yarrow." 

" "Where got ye that bonuie, bonuie bride, 
"Where got ye that winsome marrow?" 

'• I got her where I daurna weel be seen, 
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 

'• ^Yeep not, weep iwt, my bonuie, bonnie 
bride. 

Weep not, Aveei) "*^'') "'}' winsome marrow! 
Nor let thy heart lament to leave 

Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow." 

'AVhy does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie 
" bride? 

"Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? 
And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen 

PuMngthe birks on the braes of Yarrow?" 

"I-aug maun she weep, laug maun sh.e, maun 
she weep — 

Laug mami she weep Avi' dulo and sorrow; 
And laug mann I nae mair weel be seen 

Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 



"For sho has tint her lover, lover dear — 
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow ; 

And I hao slain the comeliest swain 

That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow. 

"Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Ya.rrow. 
red? 
Why on thy braes heard the voice of sor- 
row ? 
And why yon melaucholious weeds - 
Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarn)W? 

"What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful 
flood? 
What 's yonder floats ? — Oh, dule and sor- 
row ! 
"Tis he, the comely swain I slew 
Upon the dulefu' braes of Yarrow. 

" Wash, Oh Avasli his Avounds, his wounds in 
tears, 

His wounds in tears o' dule and sorrow ; 
And wrap his limbs in monrniug weeds, 

Aiul lay him on the banks of Yarrow. 

" Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, 
Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow; 

And weep around, in waeful wise. 

His hapless fate on the Itraes of Yarrow ! 

" Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield. 
The arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, 

The fatal spear that pierced his breast, 

His comely breast, on the braes of Yarrow ! 

" Did I not warn theo not to, not to love, 
And warn from fight? But, to my sorrow, 

Too rashly bold, (i stronger arm thou met'st, 
Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yar- 
row. 

Sweet smells the birk; green grows, green 
groAvs the grass ; 

Yellow on YarroAv's braes the gowan ; 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock ; 

Sweet the wave of Yarrow floAving ! 

" FloAvs Yarrow sweet? As sweet, as sweet 
floAvs Tweed ; 

As green its grass; its gOAvan as yellow; 
As SAveet smells on its braes the birk ; 

The apple from its rocks as melloAv ! 



IIAIIE WILLIE DROWNED IX YARROW 



453 



"Fair v.-as tliy love ! fair, fair indeed thy love ! 

Ill flowery bands thou didst him fetter; 
Tliongh he was fair, and well-beloved again, 

Than I he never loved thee better. 

"Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie 
bride ! 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ! 
Busk ye, and lo'e me ou the banks of Tweed 
And think nae mair on the bi-aes of Yar- 
row." 

" ITow can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ? 

IIow can I busk a winsome marrow ? 
How can I lo'e him on the banks of Tweed, 

That slew my love on the braes of Yarrcy^- ? 

" Oh Yarrow fields, may never, neve? rain, 
iSTor dew, thy tender blossoms cover ! 

For there was basely slain my love. 
My love, as he had not been a lover. 

•' Tl;e boy put on his robes, his robes of gt cen. 
His i)urple vest — 'twas my ain sewing; 

i\h, Avretched me! I little, little kenned 
He Avas, in these, to meet his ruin. 

"The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white 
steed, 

Unmindful of my dule and sorrow ; 
But ere the too fa' of the night. 

He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow ! 

'• Much I rejoiced that waefu', waefu' day ; 

I sang, my voice the woods returning ; 
But lang ere night the spear was flown 

That slew my love, and left me mourning. 

"What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, 
But with his cruel rage pursue me? 

My lover's blood is on thy spear — 
IIow canst thou, barbarous man, then woo 
me? 

"My happy sisters may be, may be proud; 

With cruel and ungentle scofling 
May bid me seek, on Yarrow braes. 

My lover nailed in his coffin. 

"My brother Douglas may upbraid, 
And strive, with threatening Avords, to 
move me ; 

My lover's blood is on thy spear — 
IIow canst thou ever bid me love thee? 



" Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love ! 

With bridal-sheets my body cover ! 
Unbar, ye bridal-maids, the door ! 

Let in the expected husband-lover! 

"But who the expected husband, husband is.' 
His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaugh- 
ter! 

Ah me! Avhat ghastly spectre's yon 

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after? 

"Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down; 

Oh lay his cold head on my pillow ! 
Take off", take otf these bridal weeds. 

And crown my careful head with willow. 

"Pale though tliou art, yet best, yet best be- 
loved. 

Oh could my Avarmth to life restore thee! 
Yet lie all night Avithin my arms — 

N"o youth lay ever there before tliee ! 

"Pale, pale indeed, O lovely, lovely youth! 

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, 
And lie all night within my arms, 

No youth shall ever lie there after! " 

" Return, return, O mournful, mournful 
bride ! 
Eeturn, and dry thy useless sorrow ! 
Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs ; 

He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow." 
"WiLLTAM Hamilton. 



RARE WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW. 

" Willy 's rare, and AVilly 's fair. 
And Willy 's wondrous bonny ; 

And Willy heght to marry me, 
Gin e'er he married ony. 

"Yestreen I made my bed fa' braid, 
This night I'll make it narroAV ; 

For a' the livelang Avinter night 
I ly twined of my marrow. 

" Oh came you by yon water-side ? 

Pou'd you the rose or lily ? 
Or came you by yon meadoAv green ? 

Or saAV you my sweet Wilh^?" 



454 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



She sought him east, she souglit him west, 
She sought him braid aud narrow ; 

Syne in the cleaving of a craig, 

She found him drowned in Yarrow. 
Anontmotts. 



SOXG. 



Thy braes were bonnj, YarroA\ stream ! 

"When first on them I met my lover ; 
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream ! 

When now thy waves liis body cover. 

For ever now, Yarrow stream ! 

Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; 
For never on thy banks shall I 

Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. 

He promised me a milk-white steed, 

To bear me to his father's bowers ; 
He promised me a little page. 

To 'squire me to his father's towers ; 
Ife promised me a wedding-ring — 

The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow ; 
Now he is wedded to his grave, 

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! 

Sweet were his words when last we met; 

My passion I as freely told him ! 
Clasped in his arms, I little thought 

That I should never more behold him ! 
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 

It vanished with a shriek of sorrow ; 
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, 

And gave a doleful groan thro/ Yarrow. 

His mother from the window looked. 

With all the longing of a mother ; 
His little sister Aveeping walked 

The green-wood path to meet her brother. 
They sought him east, they sought him west, 

They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
They only saw the cloud of night. 

They only heard the roar of Yarrow ! 

No longer from thy window look, 
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 

No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 
Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 



No longer seek him east or west, 

Aud search no more the forest thorough •, 

For, wandering in the night so dark, 
He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow. 

The tear shall never leave my cheek, 
No other youth shall be my marrow ; 

I'll seek thy body in the stream. 

And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrovr. 
John Logan. 



THE CRUEL SISTER. 

There were two sisters sat in a hour, 
Binnorie., Binnorie; 
There came a knight to be their wooer ; 

By tlie honny milldams of Binnorie. 

He courted the eldest with glove and ring, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing ; 
By the J>onny milldams of Binnorie. 

He courted the eldest with broach and knife 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life ; 
By the lonny milldams of Binnorie. 

The eldest she was vexed sair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And sore envied her sister fair ; 

By the lonny onilldams of Binnorie. 

The eldest said to the youngest ane, 

Binnorie, Binnorie — 
" Will ye go and see our father's ships comt 
in ? " 

By the lonny milldams of Binnorio. 

She 's ta'en her by the lily hand, 

Binnorie, Binnorie — 
And led her down to the river strand ; 

By the lonny milldams of Binnorie. 

The youngest stude upon a stane, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
The eldest came and pushed her in ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie 



THE CRUEL SISTER. 



453 



She took lior by the middle sma', 

JSinnorie, Binnorie ; 
And dashed her bonny back to the jaw ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

" O sister, sister, reach your hand, 

Binnorie^ Binnorie ; 
And ye shall be heir of half my land." — 
By tlie lonny milldams of Binnorie. 

" O sister, I '11 not reach my hand, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And I '11 be heir of all your laud ; 

By tlie 'bonny mUldams of Binnorie. 

" Shame fa' the hand that I should take, 

Binnorie^ Binnorie : 
It's twined me and my world's make." — 
By the tonny milldams of Binnorie. 

" sister, reach me but your glove, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And sweet William shall be your love." — 
By the ionny milldams of Binnorie. 

"Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove! 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And sv.'eet William shall better be my love, 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

"Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Garred me gang maiden overmair." 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Until she cam to the miller's dam ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

" father, father, draw your dam ! 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
There's either a mermaid, or a milk-white 

swan." 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

The miller hasted and drew his dam, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And there he found a drowned woman ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 



You could not see her yellow hair,' 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
For gowd and pearls that were so rare ; 

By tlie honny milldams of Binnorie. 

You could not see her middle sma', 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Her gowden girdle was sae bra' ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

A famous harper passing by, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

And when he looked that lady on, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
He sighed and made a heavy moan ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

He made a harp of her breast-bone, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone ; 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

The strings he framed of her yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie — 
Whose notes made sad the listening ear ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

He brought it to her father's hall, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And there was the court assembled all ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

He laid his harp ujjon a stone, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And straight it began to play alone ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

" Oh yonder sits my fother, the king, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And yonder sits my mother, the queen ; " 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

"And yonder stands my brother Hugh, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And by hina my William, sweet and true." 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

But the last tune that the harp played then, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Was — " Woe to my sister, false Helen 1 " 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 
Anonymous. 



456 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AXD SORROW 



LOED EANDAL. 

" Oh where liae ye been, Lord Eantlal, my 

son ? 
Oh Avliere hae ye been, my handsome young 

man ? " 
"I hae been to the wild wood; mother, 

make my bed soon, 
For I 'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 

down." 

" Where gat ye your dinner. Lord Eandal, 

my son ? 
"What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome 

young man? " 
j " I dined wi' my true-love ; mother, make 

my bed soon. 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and foiu wald lie 

down." 

'• AVhat gat ye to your dinner, Lord Eandal, 

my son ? 
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome 



young .man 



?" 



" I gat eels boiled in broo ; mother, make my 

bed soon. 
For I'm weary wi' liunting, and fain wald lie 

down." 

" What became of your bloodhounds, Lord 
Eandal, my son ? 

What became of your bloodhounds, ray band- 
some young man ? " 

'' Oh they swelled and they died ; mother, 
make my bed soon, 

For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 
down." 

" Oh 1 fear ye are poisoned. Lord Eandal, my 

son ! 
Oh I fear ye are poisoned, my handsome young 

man! " 
' Oh yes ! I am poisoned ; mother, make my 

bed soon. 
For I 'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie 

down." 

Anontmous. 



EDWAED, EDWAED. 

" QuHT dois zour brand sac drop wi' bluid, 

Edward, Edward : 
Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid. 

And quhy sac sad gang zee oh ? " 
" Oh I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 

Mither, mither : 
Oh I hae killed my hauk sae guid, 

And I had nae mair hot bee oh." 

" Zour liaukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

Edward, Edward : 
Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid — 

My deir son, I tell thee oh." 
"Oh I hae killed my rcid-roan steid, 

Mither, mither : 
Oh I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 

That erst was sae fair and free oh." 

"Zour steid was auld, and zc hae gat mair, 

Edward, Edward : 
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae got mair — 

Sum other dule ze drie oh." 
" Oh I hae killed my fader deir, 

Mither, mither : 
Oh I hae killed my fader deir — 

Alas ! and wae is mee oh ! " 

" xVnd quliatten penance wnl ze drie for that, 

Edward, Edward ? 

And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that? 

My deir son, now tell me oh.'' 
" He set my feit in zonder boat, 

Mither, mither : 
He set my feit in zonder boat, 

And He fare ovu- the sea oh." 

"And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and 
zour ha', 

Edward, Edward ? 
And quhat vful ze doo wi' zour towirs and 
zour ha', 

That were sae fair to see oh? " 
" lie let thame stand til they doun fa', 

Mither, mither : 
lie let tharae stand til they doun fa'. 

For here nevir mair maun I bee oh." 



THE TWA BROTHERS. 



i5l 



"And qubat 'vvul ze leive to zonr bairns and 
zour wife, 

Edward, Edward? 
And qubat wid ze leive to zour bairns and 
zour wife, 

Quban ze gang ovir tbesea ob ? " 
" Tbc warldis room — late tbem beg tbrow life, 

Mitber, mitber: 
Tbc warldis room — late tbem beg tbrow life. 
For tbame nevir mair wul Isee ob." 

"And qubat wul ze leive to zour ain mitber 
deir, 

Edward, Edward ? 
And qubat wul ze leive to zour aiu mitber 
deir ? 

My deir son, now tell me ob. " 
" Tbo curse of bell frae me sail ze beir, 

Mitber, mitber: 
Tbe curse of bell frae me sail ze beir — 

Sic counseils ze gave to me ob. " 
Anonymous. 



THE TWA 15R0THERS. 

There were twa brothers at tbe scule. 

And when they got awa', — 
"It's will ye play at the stane-cbucking. 

Or will ye play at tbe ba' ? 
Or will ye gae up to yon bill bead, 

And tbere we '11 warsel a fa' ? " 

"I winna play at tbe stane-cbucking, 

Nor will I play at tbe ba' ; 
But I '11 gae up to yon bonnie green hill, 

And tbere we '11 warsel a fa' ? " 

They warsled up, tbey warsled down, 

Till John fell to the ground ; 
A dirk fell out of William's pouch. 

And gave John a deadly wound. 

" Oh lift me upon your back — 

Tak me to yon well tiiir; 
And wash my bluidy wounds o'er and o'er. 

And tbey '11 ne'er bleed nae mair." 

lie 's lifted bis brother upon bis back, 

Ta'cn bim to yon well fair ; 
Uc 's washed his bluidy Avounds o'er and o'er, 

But they bleed ay mair and mair. 
"62 



" Tak ye aff my Holland sark, 

And rive it gair by gair. 
And row it in my bluidy wounds. 

And tbey '11 ne'er bleed nae mair." 

He 's taken aff bis Holland sark. 

And torn it gair by gair ; 
He 's rowit it in his bluidy Avounds, 

But tbey bleed ay mair and mair. 

"Tak now aff my green cleiding. 

And row me saftly in ; 
And tak me up to yon kirk style, 

Whare tbe grass grows fair and green." 

He 's taken aff tbe green cleiding. 

And rowed bim saftly in ; 
He 's laid him down by yon kirk style, 

Whare the grass grows fair and green. 

"What will ye say to your fatber dear. 

When ye gae hame at e'en ? " 
" I '11 say ye 're lying at yon kirk style, 
Whare the grass grows fair and green." 

" Oh no, ob no, my brotber dear. 

Oh you must not say so ; 
But say tliat I am gane to a foreign land, 

Where nae man does me know." 

When he sat in bis fatbei-'s chair. 
He grew baith pale and wan : 

" Oh what blude 's that upon your brow ? 
O dear son, tell to me." 

" It is the blude o' my gudc gray steed — 
He wadna ride wi' me." 

" Ob tby steed's blade was ne'er sae red, 

Xor e'er sae dear to me. 
Ob what blude 's this upon your cheek? 

O dear son, tell to me." 
" It is tbe blude of my greyhound — 

He wadna bunt for me." 

" Ob tby hound's blude was ne'er sae red, 

Xor e'er sae dear to me. 
Oh wbat blude 's tins upon your band ? 

O dear son, tell to me." 
" It is tbe blude of my gay goss hawk — 

He wadna flee for me." 



45^ 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



" Oil tliy hawk's blude ^^'as ne'er sae red, 

Nor e'er sae dear to me. 
Oh what blude 's this upon your dirk? 

Dear Willie, tell to me." 
" It is the blude of my ae brother, 

Oh dule and wae is me! " 

" Oh wliat will ye say to your father? 

Dear Willie, tell to me." 
" 1 '11 saddle my steed, and awa' I '11 ride 

To dwell in some far countrie." 

" Oh when will ye come hame again ? 

Dear Willie, tell to me." 
" When sun and mune leap on yon hill — 

And that will never be." 

Slie turned hersel' right round about. 
And her heart burst into three : 

" My ae best son is deid and gane, 
And my tother ane I '11 ne'er see.^' 

Anonymous. 



THE TWA CORBIES. 

As I gaed doun by yon house-en' 

Twa corbies there were sittan their lane : 

The tane unto the tother sae, 

"Oh where shall we gae dine to-day? " 

"Oh down beside yon new-faun birk 

There lies a new-slain knicht; 

Nae livin kens that he lies there, 

But his horse, his hounds, and his lady fair. 

" His hor?e is to the huntin gane. 

His hounds to bjing the wild deer hame ; 

His lady 's taen another mate ; 

Sae Ave may make our dinner swate. 

" Oh we '11 sit on his bonnie briest-bane, 
And we '11 pyke out his bonnie grey een ; 
'.Vi ae lock o' hisgowden hair 
We '11 theek our nest when it blaws bare. 

" Mony a ane for him maks mane. 
But nane sail ken where he is gane ; 
Ower his banes, when they are bare, 
The wind sail l)lavr for cvermair ! " 

Anonymous. 



BOXXIE GEORGE CAMPBELT.. 

IIiE upon Hielands, 

And low upon Tay, 
Bonnie George Campbell 

Rade out on a day. 
Saddled and bridled 

And gallant rade he ; 
Ilame cam his gude horse, 

But never cam he ! 

Out cam his auld mither, 

Greeting fu' sair ; 
And out cam his bonnie bride, 

Rivin' her hair. 
Saddled and bridled 

And booted rade he ; 
Toom hame came the saddle, 

But never cam he ! 

" My meadow lies green. 

And my corn is unshorn ; 
My barn is to big, 

And my baby 's unborn." 
Saddled and bridled 

And booted rade ho ; 
Toom hame cam the saddle, 

But never cam he ! 

ANONYMors. 



LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW 

My love he built me a bonny bower, 
And clad it a' wi' lilye flour ; 
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see 
Than my true love he built for me. 

There came a man, by middle day ; 
He spied liis sport, and went away ; 
And brought the king that very night, 
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. 

He slew ray knight, to me sae dear ; 
He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear ; 
My servants all for life did flee, 
And left me in extreraitie. 



SONG. 



45'J 



I sewed his sheet, making my mane ; 
I watched the corpse, myself alane ; 
I watched liis body, night and day ; 
Xo living creature came that way. 

I tuk his body on ray back, 

And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ; 

I digged a grave, and laid him in, 

And happed him with the sod sae green. 

But think na ye my heart Avas sair, 
"When I laid the mouP on his yellow hair? 
Oh think na ye my heart was wae, 
When I turned about, away to gae ? 

Nae living man I '11 love again, 
Since that my lovely knight is slam ; 
AYi' ae lock of his yellow hair 
I'll chain my heart for evermair. 

j4NONySIOtJ3. 



FAIR IIELEX. 

I wisu I were where Helen lies ; 
Night and day on me she cries. 
Oh that I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirconnell lee ! 

Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
"When in my arms burd Helen dropt, 
And died to succour me ! 

Oh think na ye my heart was sair, 
"When my love dropt down and spak nae mair ? 
There did she swoon wi' meikle care. 
On fair Kirconnell lee. 

As I went down the water side. 
None but my foe to be my guide — 
None but my foe to be my guide, 
On fair Kirconnell lee — 

I lighted down niy sword to draw ; 
I hacked hiin in pieces sma' — 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 
For her sake that died for me. 

Helen fair, beyond compare, 

1 '11 make a garland of thy hair, 
Shall bind my heart for evermair, 

Until the day I die! 



Oh that I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
Out of my bed she bids me rise — 
Says, " Haste and come to me ! " 

Helen fair ! Helen chaste ! 
If I were with thee I were blest, 
"Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest, 

On foir Kirconnell lee. 

1 Avish my grave were growing green, 
A winding-slicet drawn ower my een. 
And I in Helen's arms lying, 

On fair Kirconnell lee. 

I wish I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
And I am weary of the skies, 
For her sake that died for me. 

ANONTMOCa, 



SONG. 



"O Mary, go and call the cattle home. 
And call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home, 
Across the sands o' Dee ! " 
The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, 
And all alone went slie. 

The creeping tide came up along the sand, 
And o'er and o'er the sand, 
An.i round and round the sand. 
As far as eye could see ; 
The blinding mist came down and h id the land : 
And never home came she, 

" Oh is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — 
A tress o' golden hair, 
0' drowned maiden's hair — 
Above the nets at sea ? 
"Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, 
Among the stakes on Dee." 

They rowed her in across the rolling foam— 
The cruel, crawling foam, 
The cruel, hungry foam — 
To her grave beside the sea ; 
But still the boatmen hear her call tl.«e cattle 
home 
Across the sands o' Dee. 

ChAELES Kl>-G9tET. 



4G0 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



SOHEAB AND EUSTUM. 

A?7 EPISODE. 

And the first gi'.iy of morning filled the east, 
And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream ; 
But all the Tartar camp along the stream 
Was hushed, and still the men were plunged 

in sleep. 
Sohrab alone, he slept not ; all night along 
lie had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed ; 
But when the gray dawn stole into his tent, 
lie rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword. 
And took his horseman's cloak, and left his 

tent, 
And went abroad into the cold wet fog, 
Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's tent. 
Through the black Tartar tents he passed, 

which stood. 
Clustering like bee-hives, on tlie low flat 

strand 
Of Oxus, Avherc the summer floods overflow 
When the sun melts the snows in high Pa- 
mere : 
Througli the black tents he passed, o'er that 

low strand, 
And to a hillock came, a little back 
From the stream's brink, the spot where first 

a boat, 
Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the 

land. 
The men of former times had crowned the 

top 
With a clay fort. But that was fallen ; and 

now 
The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, 
A dome of laths ; and o'er it felts were 

spread. 
And Sohrab came there, and Avent in, and 

stood 
Upon the thick-piled carpets in the tent. 
And found the old man sleeping on his bed 
Of rugs and felts ; and near him lay his arms. 
And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step 
Was dulled ; for he slept light, an old man's 

sleep ; 
And he rose quickly on one arm, and said : 
" Who art thou ? for it is not yet clear 

dawn. 
Speak ! is there news, or any night alarm ? " 



But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said; 
"Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa ; it is I, 
The sun is not yet risen, and the foe 
Sleep ; but I sleep not. All night long I lie 
Tossing and wakeful ; and I come to thee. 
For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek 
Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son. 
In Samarcand, before the army marched ; 
And I will tell thee what my heart desires. 
Thou knowest if, since from Ader-baijan first 
I came among the Tartars, and bore arms, 
I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown. 
At my boy's years, the courage of a man. 
This, too, thou know'st, that while I still 

bear on 
The conquering Tartar ensigns through the 

world, J 
And beat the Persians back on every field, 
I seek one man, one man, and one alone. 
Eustum, my father ; who, I hoped, should 

greet, 
Should one day greet upon some well-fought 

field 
His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 
So I long hoped, but him I never find. 
Come then, hear now, and grant me what 

ask. 
Let the two armies rest to-day ; but I 
Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords 
To meet me, man to man. If I prevail, 
Eustura Avill surely hear it ; if I fall — 
Old man, the dead need no one, chiim no kin. 
Dim is the rumor of a common fight, 
Where host meets host, and many names are 

sunk ; 
But of a single combat fame speaks clear." 

He spoke : and Peran-Wisa took the hand 
Of the young man in his, and sighed, and 

said : 
" O Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine ! ■ 
Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs. 
And share the battle's common chance with 

us 
Who love thee, but must press for ever first, 
In single fight incurring single risk. 
To find a father thou hast never seen ? 
That were far best, my son, to stay with us 
Unmurmuring — in our tents, while it is war ; 
And when 'tis truce, then in Afrasiab's 

towns. 
But, if this one desire indeed rules all, 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



4G1 



To seek out Eustum — seek him not tlironglj 

fight; 
Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms — 
Sohrab, carry an uuwounded son ! 
But fur hence seek liim ; for he is not here. 
For now it is not as when I was young, 
"Wlien Rustum was in front of every fray ; 
But now he keeps apart, and sits at home, 
In Siestan, with Zal, his father old ; 
Whether that his own mighty sti'ength at last 
Feels the abliorred approaches of old age ; 
Or in some quarrel with the Persian king. 
There go; — Thou ^vilt not? yet my heart 

forebodes 
Dangeror death awaits thee on this field. 
Fain would I know thee safe and well, though 

' lost 
To us — fain therefore send thee hence, in 

peace 
To seek thy father, not seek single fights 
In vain. But who can keep the lion's cub 
From ravening? and who govern Rustum's 

son? 
Go ! I will grant thee what thy heart desires." 
So said he, and dropped Sohrab's hand, and 

left 
His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay ; 
And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coat 
He passed, and tied his sandals on his feet. 
And threw a white cloak round him ; and he 

took 
In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword ; 
And on his head he placed his sheep-skin 

cap — 
Black, glossy, curled, the fleece of Kara-Kul ; 
And raised the curtain of his tent, and called 
His herald to his side, and went abroad. 
The sun, by this, had risen, and cleared the 

fog 
From the broad Oxus and the glittering 

sands ; 
And from their tents the Tartar horsemen filed 
Into the open plain : so Haman bade — 
Haman, who, next to Peran-Wisa, ruled 
The host, and still was in his lusty prime. 
From their black tents, iong files of horse, 

they streamed : 
As when, some grey November morn, the 

files. 
In inarching order spread, of long-necked 

cranes, 



Stream over Oasbin, and the southern slopes 

Of Elburz, from the Aralian estuaries, 

Or some frore Caspian reed-bed — southward 

bound 
For the Avarm Persian sea-board: so they 

streamed — 
The Tartars of the Oxus, the king's guard, 
First, with black sheep-skin caps, and with 

long spears ; 
Large men, large steeds ; who from Bokhara 

come. 
And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares. 
ISText the more temperate Toorkmims of the 

south, 
The Tukas, and the lances of Salore, 
And those from Attruck and the Caspian 

sands — 
Light men, and on light steeds, who only 

drink 
The acrid milk of camels, and their Avells, 
And then a swarm of Avandering horse, who 

came 
From far, and a more doubtful service 

owned — 
The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks 
Of the Jaxartes — men with scanty beards 
And close-set skull-caps; and those Avilder 

hordes 
Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern 

■waste, 
Kalmuks and unkemped Kuzzal^s, tribes who 

stray 
Nearest the pole ; and wandering Kirghizes, 
Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere. 
These all filed out from camp into the plain. 
And on the other side the Persians formed : 
First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they 

seemed. 
The Ilyats of Khorassan ; and behind. 
The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot. 
Marshalled battalions bright in burnished 

steel. 
But Peran-Wisa with his herald came 
Threading the Tartar squadrons to tlie front, 
And Avith his staff kept back the foremost 

ranks. 
And Avhen Ferood, Avho led the Persians, saw 
That Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, ' 
He took his spear, and to the front he came 
And checked bis ranks, and fixed them where 

they stood. 



462 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



And the old Tartar came upon the sand 
Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and 

said : — 
"Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, 

hear ! 
Let there be truce between the hosts to-day. 
But choose a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight our champion, Sohrab, man to man." 

As, in the country, on a morn in June, 
When the dew glistens on the pearled ears, 
A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy — 
So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said^ 
A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran. 
Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they 

loved. 
But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool, 
Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, 
That vast sky-neighboring mountain of milk 

snow. 
Winding so high, that, as they mount, they 

pass 
Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the 

snow, 
Choked by the air ; and scarce can they 

themselves 
Slake their parched throats with sugared 

mulberries — 
In single file they move, and stop their breath. 
For fear they should dislodge the o'erhanging 

snows — 
So the pale Persians held their breath with 

fear. 
And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up 
To counsel. Gudurz and Zoarrah came ; 
And Feraburz, who ruled the Persian host 
Second, and was the uncle of the king ; 
These came and counselled ; and then Gudurz 

said : — 
"Ferood, shame bids us take their chal- 
lenge up, 
Yet champion have we none to match this 

youth ; 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart. 
But Eustum came last night ; aloof he sits. 
And sullen, and has pitched his tents apart : 
Ilim will I seek, and carry to his ear 
riie Tartar challenge, and this young man's 

name. 
Ilaply he will forget his wrath, and fight. 
Stand forth the while, and take their chal- 
lenge up." 



So spake he ; and Ferood stood forth and 

said : — 
" Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said. 
Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." 
He spoke ; and Peran-Wisa turned, and strode 
Back through the opening squadrons to his 

tent. 
But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, 
And crossed the camp which lay behind, and 

reached. 
Out on the sands beyond it, Eustum's tents. 
Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay. 
Just pitched. The high pavilion in the midst 
AVas Eustum's ; and his men lay camped 

around. 
And Gudurz entered Eustum's tent, and found 
Eustum. His morning meal was done ; but 

still 
The table stood beside him, charged with 

food — 
A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread. 
And dark green melons. And there Eustum 

sate 
Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist. 
And played with it; but Gudurz came and 

stood 
Before him ; and he looked and saw him 

stand ; 
And with a cry sprang up, and dropped the 

bird, 
And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and 

said : — 
" Welcome ! these eyes could see no better 

sight. 
What news? But sit down first, and eat and 

drink." 
But Gudurz stood in the tent door, and 

said : — 
"Not now. A time will come to eat and 

drink, 
But not to-day : to-day has other needs. 
The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze; 
For from the Tartars is a challenge brought 
To pick a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight their champion — and thou know'st 

his name^ 
Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. 
Eustum, like thy might is this young 

man's ! 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart. 
And he is young, and Iran's chiefs are old. 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



4G3 



Or else too weak ; and all eyes turn to thee. 
Come down and help us, Eustum, or we lose." 
lie sjioke. But Rustum answered with a 

smile : — 
" Go to ! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I 
Am older. If the young are weak, the king 
Errs strangely ; for the king, for Kai Khos- 

roo. 
Himself is young, and honors younger men. 
And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 
Rustum he loves no more, but loves the 

young— 
The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. 
For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's 

fame ? 
Tor would that I myself had such a son, 
And not that one slight helpless girl I have — 
A son so famed, so brave, to send to war, 
And I to tarry with the snow-haired Zal, 
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, 
And clip his borders short, and drive his 

herds ; 
And he has none to guard his weak old age. 
There would I go, and hang my armor up, 
And with my great name fence that weak old 

man. 
And spend the goodly treasures I have got. 
And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame. 
And leave to death the hosts of thankless 

kings. 
And Avith these slaughterous hands draw 

sword no more." 
He spoke, and smiled; and Gudurz made 

reply :— 
"What then, O Rustum, will men say to 

this, 
When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and 

seeks 
Thee most of all ; and thou, whom most he 

seeks, 
nidest thy face ? Take heed, lest men should 

say, 
LiJce some old miser Rustum Jioards Msfame^ 
And shuns to peril it with younger men^ 
And, greatly moved, then Rustum made 

reply : — 
"0 Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such 

Avords ? 
Thou knowest better words than this to say. 
What is one more, one less, obscure or famed, 
Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? 



Are not they mortal? Am not I myself? 
But wlio for men of nought would do great 

deeds ? 
Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his 

fame. 
But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms; 
Let not men say of Rustum, he was matched 
In single fight with any mortal man." 

He spoke, and frowned ; and Gudurz turned, 

and ran 
Back quickly through the camp in fear and 

joy- 
Fear at his wrath, but joy that Rustum came. 
But Rustum strode to his tent door, and 

called 
His followers in, and bade them bring his 

arms. 
And clad himself in steel. The arms he 

chose 
Were plain, and on his shield was no device ; 
Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold; 
And from the fluted spine, atop, a plume 
Of horse-hair waved, a scarlet horse-hair 

plume. 
So armed, he issued forth; and Ruksh, his 

horse, 
Followed him, like a fiiithfnl hound, at 

heel — 
Ruksh, whose renown was noised through 

all the earth — 
The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once 
Did in Bokhara by the river find, 
A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home. 
And reared him ; a bright bay, with lofty 

crest, 
Dight with a saddle-cloth of broidered green 
Crusted with gold ; and on the ground were 

worked 
All beasts of chase, all beasts wliich hunters 

know. 
So followed, Rustum left his tents, and crossed 
The camp, and to the Persian host appeared. 
And all the Persians knew him, and with 

shouts 
Hailed: but the Tartars knew not who he 

was. 
And dear as the wet diver to the eyes 
Of his pale wife, who waits and weeps oo 

shore, 
By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf — 
Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, 



464 



POEMS OF TllAGEDY AND SORROW, 



Having made up Lis tale of precious pearls, 
Rejoins lier in their liut upon the sands — 
So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. 

And Rustum to the Persian front advanced: 
And Sohrab armed in Ilaman's tent, and 

. came. 
And as a-field the reapers cut a swathe 
Down through the middle of a rich man's 

corn, 
And on each side are squares of standing 

corn, 
And in the midst a stubble, short and bare : 
So on each side were squares of men, with 

spears 
Bristling; and in the midst, the open sand. 
And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast 
Ilis eyes towards the Tartar tents, and saw 
Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he 

came. 
As some rich woman, on a winter's morn, 
Eyes through her silken curtains the poor 

dnidge 
Who with numb-blackened fingers makes her 

fire — 
At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn, 
Wlien the frost flowers the whitened window 

panes — 
And wonders how she lives, and what the 

thoughts 
Of that poor drudge may be : so Rustum 

eyed 
The unknown adventurous youth, who from 

afar 
Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 
All the most valiant chiefs. Long he perused 
His spirited air, and wondered who he was. 
For very young he seemed, tenderly reared; 
Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and 

straight. 
Which in a queen's secluded garden throws 
Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf. 
By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound — 
So slender Sohrab seemed, so softly reared. 
And a deep pity entered Rustum's soul 
As he beheld him coming ; and he stood, 
And beckoned to him with his hand, and 

said: 
" Oh, thou young man, the air of heaven 
is soft, 
And warm, and pleasant; but the grave is 

cold. 



Heaven's air is better than the cold dead 

grave. 
Behold me : I am vast, and clad in iron. 
And tried ; and I have stood on many a field 
Of blood, and I have fouglit with many a 

foe; 
Never was that field lost, or that foe saved. 
Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? 
Be governed : quit the Tartar host, and come 
To Iran, and be as my son to me, 
And fight beneath my banner till I die. 
There are no youths in Iran brave as Ihou," 
So he spake, mildly. Sohrab heard his 

voice. 
The mighty voice of Rustum ; and he savv- 
His giant figure planted on the sand — 
Sole, like some single tower, which a chief 
Has builded on the waste in former years 
Against the robbers ; and he saw that head, 
Streaked with its first gray hairs. Hope filled 

his soul ; 
And he ran forward and embraced his knees. 
And clasped his hand within his own and 

said : — 
" Oh, by thy father's head! by thine own 

soul ! 
Art thou not Rustum ? Speak! art thou not 

he ? " 
But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling 

youth. 
And turned away, and spoke to his own soul ; 
"Ah me, I muse what tliis young fox may 

mean. 
False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. 
For if I now confess this thing he asks. 
And hide it not, but say — Rustum is here — 
He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes. 
But he will find some pretext not to fight. 
And praise my fame, and protFer courteous 

gifts— 
A belt or sword perhaps — and go his way. 
And on a feast day, in Afi-asiab's ball, 
In Samarcand, he will arise and cry — 
' I challenged once, when the two armies 

camped 
Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 
To cope with me in single fight; but they 
Shrank ; only Rustum dared. Then he and I 
Changed gifts, and went on equal terms 

away.' 
So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud . 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM, 



46c 



Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through 

me." 
And then he turned, and sternly spake 

aloud : 
" Rise ! "Wherefore dost thou vainly ques- 
tion thus 
Of Eustum? I am here, "whom thou hast 

called 
By challenge forth. Make good thy vaunt, 

or yield. 
Is it with Eustum only thou wouldst tight ? 
Eash boy, men look on Eustum's face and flee. 
For well I know, that did great Eustum 

stand 
Before thy face this day, and Avere revealed, 
There would be then no talk of lighting 

more. 
But being what I am, I tell thee this — 
Do thou record it in thine inmost soul — 
Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt, and 

yield ; 
Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till 

Avinds 
Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer floods, 
Oxus in summer, wash them all away." 
He spoke ; and Sohrab answered, on his 
* feet : 
" Art thou so fierce ? Thou wilt not fright 

me so. 
I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 
Yet this thou hast said well : did Eustum 

stand 
Here on this field, there Avere no fighting 

then. 
But Eustum is far hence, and we stand here. 
Begin! Thou art more vast, more dread, 

than I ; 
And thou art proved, I know, and I am 

young— 
But yet success sways with the breath of 

heaven. 
And though thou thinkest that thou knowest 

sure 
Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. 
For we are all, like swimmers in the sea. 
Poised on the top of a huge wave of Fate, 
"Which hangs uncertain to which side to 

fall; 
And whether it will heave us up to land, 
Or whether it Avill roll us out to sea — 
Bock out to sea, to the deep waves of death — 
63 



We know not, and no search will make us 

know ; 
Only the event will teach' us in its hour." 
He spake ; and Eustum answered not, but 

hurled 
His spear. Down from the shoulder, down 

it came — 
As on some partridge in the corn, a hawk, 
That long has toAvered in the airy clouds. 
Drops like a plummet. Sohrab saw it come, 
And sprang aside, quick as a flash. The spear 
Hissed, and went quivering down into the 

sand. 
Which it sent flying wide. Then Sohrab 

threAV 
In turn, and full struck Eustum's shield. 

Sharp rang, 
The iron plates rang sharj), but turned the 

spear. 
And Eustum seized his club, Avhich none but 

he 
Could wield — an unlapped trunk it Avas, and 

huge, 
Still rough ; like those Avhich men, in tree- 
less plains, 
To build them boats, fish from the flooded 

rivers, 
Hyphasis or Hydaspes, Avhen, high up 
By their dark springs, the Avind in Avinter- 

time 
Has made in Himalayan forests Avrack, 
And strewn the channels Avith torn boughs — 

so huge 
The club Avhich Eustum lifted now, and 

struck 
One stroke ; but again Sohrab sprang aside. 
Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club 

came 
Thundering to earth, and leapt from Eus- 
tum's hand. 
xVnd Eustum followed his own blow, and fell 
To his knees, and with his flngers clutched 

the sand. 
And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his 

sword. 
And pierced the mighty Eustum Avhile ho » 

lay 
Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked Avith 

sand ; 
But he looked on, and smiled, nor bared his 

sword ; 



466 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



But courteously drew back, and spoke, and 

said : 
" Thou strik 'st too Lard ; that club of thine 

^vill tloat 
Upon the summer Hoods, and not my bones. 
But rise, and be not wroth ; not wroth am I. 
No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my 

souk 
Thou sayest thou art not Ilustum ; be it so. 
"Who art thou then, that canst so touch my 

soul ? 
Boy as I am, I have seen battles too ; 
Have waded foremost in their bloody waves, 
And heard their hollow roar of dying men ; 
But never was my heart thus touched before. 
Are they from heaven, these softenings o-f 

the heart ? 
O thou old warrior, let us yield to heaven! 
Come, plant vre here in earth our angry 

spears. 
And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 
And pledge each other in red Avine, like 

friends ; 
And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds. 
There are enough foes in the Persian host 
Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no 

pang ; 
Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou 
May'st fight: fight them, when tlicy confront 

thy spear. 
But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and 

me ! " 
He ceased. But while he spake, Rustum 

had risen. 
And stood erect, trembling with rage. His 

club 
He left to lie, but had regained his spear. 
Whose fiery point now in his mailed right 

hand 
Blazed bright and baleful — like that autumn 

star. 
The baleful sign of fevers. Dust had soiled 
His stately crest, and dimmed his glittering 

arms. 
His breast heaved ; his lips foamed ; and 

twice his voice 
Was choked with rage. At last these words 

broke way : — • 
" Girl ! nimble with thy feet, not with thy 

hands! 
Curled minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words! 



Fight ! let me hear thy hateful voice no 

more ! 
Thou art iiot in Afrasiab's gardens now 
With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont 

to dance ; 
But on the Oxus sands, and in the dance 
Of battle, and with me, who make no play 
Of war. I fight it out, and hand to hand. 
Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and 

wine ! 
Remember all thy valor; try thy feints 
And cunning; all the pity I had is gone ; 
Because thou hast shamed me before both the 

hosts. 
With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's 

Aviles." 
He spoke ; and Sohrab kindled at his 

taunts, 
And he too drew his sword. At once they 

rushed 
Together ; as two eagles on one prey 
Come rushing down together from the clouds, 
One from the east, one from the west. Their 

shields 
Dashed with a clang together ; and a diu 
Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters 
Make often in the forest's heart at morn. 
Of hewing axes, crashing trees ; such blows 
Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed. 
And you would say that sun and stars took 

part 
In that unnatural conflict ; for a cloud 
Grew suddenly in Heaven, and darkened the 

sun 
Over the fighters' heads ; and a wind rose 
Under their feet, and moaning swept the 

plain, 
And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair. 
In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they 

alone ; 
For both the on-looking hosts on either hand 
Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure. 
And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. 
But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot 

eyes 
And laboring breath. First Rustum struck 

the shield 
Which Sohrab held stiff out. The steel-spiked 

spear 
Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the 

skin : 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



4G7 



And Rustuin i)liicke(l it back with angry 

groan. 
Then Sohrab witli his sword smote Rustum's 

hchn, 
Nor ck)ve its steel quite through ; but all the 

crest 
lie shore away ; and that proud horsehair 

plume, 
Never till now defiled, sunk to the dust ; 
And Eustum bowed his head. But then the 

gloom 
Grew blacker; thunder rumbled in the air, 
And lightnings rent the cloud ; and Paiksh, 

the horse, 
Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry. 
No horse's cry was that, most like the roar 
Of some pained desert lion, who all day 
Has trailed the hunter's javelin in his side, 
And comes at night to die upon the sand. 
The two hosts heard ^le cry, and quaked for 

fear ; 
And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream. 
But Sohrab heard, and quailed not — but 

rushed on, 
And struck again ; and again Eustum bowed 
His head. But this time all the blade, like 

glass. 
Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm. 
And in his hand the hilt remained alone. 
Then Eustum raised his head ; his dreadful 

eyes 
Glared, and he shook on high his menacing 

spear, 
And shouted "Eustum! " Sohrab heard that 

shout, 
And shrank amazed ; back he recoiled one 

step, 
And scanned with blinking eyes the advanc- 
ing form ; 

j And then he stood bewildered ; and he 
j dropped 

[lis covering shield, and the spear pierced his 

side. 
I He reeled, and staggering back, sunk to the 
I ground. 

And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind 
I fell, 

And the bright sun broke forth, and melted 
! all 

The cloud; and the two armies saw the 

pair — 



Saw Eustum standing, safe upon his feet, 
And Sohrab wounded, on the bloody sand. 
Then with a bitter smile, Eustum began :— 
"Sohrab, thou thoughte^t in thy mind to 

kill 
A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse. 
And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent ; 
Or else that the great Eustum Avould como 

down 
Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would 

move 
His heart to take a gift, and let thee. go. 
And then all the Tartar host would praise 
Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy 

fame, 
To glad thy father in his weak old age. 
Fool ! thou art slain, and by an unknown 

man ! 
Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be. 
Than to thy friends, and to thy father old." 
And with a fearless mien Sohrab replied : — 
" Unknown thou art ; yet thy fierce vaunt 

is vain. 
Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful 

man! 
No! Eustum slays me, and this filial heart. 
For were I matched with ten such men as 

thou. 
And I were he who till to-day I was. 
They should be lying here, I standing there. 
But that beloved name unnerved my arm — 
That name, and something, I confess, in thee, 
Which troubles all my heart, and made my 

shield 
Fall; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed 

foe. 
And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. 
But hear thou this, fierce man — tremble to 

hear ! 
The mighty Eustum sliall avenge my death ! 
My father, whom I seek through all the 

world. 
He shall aveuge my death, and punish thee! " 
As when some hunter in the spring hath 

found 
A breeding eagle sitting on her nest, 
Upon the craggy isle of a hill lake, 
And pierced her with an arrow as she rose. 
And followed her to find her where she fell 
Far off; — anon her mate comes winging bacl{ 
From hunting, and a great vray off descries 



L_ 



468 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



His huddling vouiig left sole ; at that, he 

checks 
Ilis pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps 
Circles above his eyry, Avith loud screams 
Chiding his mate hack to her nest ; but she 
Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, 
In some far stony gorge out of his ken — 
A heap of fluttering feathers. Never more 
Shall the lake glass her, flying over it ; 
Never the black and dripping precipices 
Echo her stormy scream, as she sails by. 
As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his 

loss — 
So Eustum knew not his own loss ; but stood 
Over his dying son, and knew him not. 
But with a cold, incredulous voice, he 

said: 
" What prate is this of fathers and revenge ? 
The mighty Eustum never had a son." 

And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied : 
" Ah yes, he had ! and that lost son am I. 
Surely the news will one day reach his ear — 
Eeach Eustum, where he sits, and tarries 

long. 
Somewhere, I know not where, but for from 

here ; 
And pierce him like a stab, and make him 

leap 
To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee — 
Fierce man, bethink thee — for an only son ! 
What will that grief, what will that vengeance 

be! 
Oh, could I live till I that grief had seen ! 
Yet him I pity not so much, but her. 
My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells 
With that old king, her father, who grows 

gray 
With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. 
Her most I pity, who no more will see 
Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, 
With spoils and honor, when the war is done. 
Bnt a dark rumor will be bruited up. 
From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear ; 
And then will that defenceless woman learn 
That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more ; 
But that in battle with a nameless foe. 
By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain." 

He spoke ; and as he ceased he we^^t aloud. 
Thinking of her he left, and his own death. 
He spoke; but Eustum listened, plunged in 

thought. 



Nor did he yet believe it was his son 

Who spoke, although he called back names 

he knew ; 
For he had had sure tidings that the babe, 
Which was in Ader-baijan born to him. 
Had been a puny girl, no boy at all : 
So that sad moth^ sent him word, for fear 
Eustum should take the boy, to train in 

arms ; 
And so he deemed that either Sohrab took. 
By a false boast, the style of Eustum's son ; 
Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. 
So deemed he ; yet he listened, plunged in 

thought ; 
And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide 
Of the bright rocking ocean sets to shore 
At the full moon. Tears gathered in his 

eyes; 
For he remembered his own early youth. 
And all its bounding rtlpture. As, at dawn, 
The shepherd from his mountain lodge des- 
cries 
A far bright city, smitten by the sun. 
Through many rolling clouds — so Eustum saw 
His youth ; saw Sohrab's mother, in her 

bloom ; 
And that old king, her father, who loved well 
His wandering guest, and gave him his fair 

child 
With joy ; and all the pleasant life they led. 
They three, in that long-distant summer- 
time — 
The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt 
And hound, and morn on those delightful 

hills 
In Ader-baijan. And he saw that youth, 
Of age and looks to be his own dear son. 
Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand. 
Like some rich hyacinth, which by the 

scythe 
Of an uHskilful gardener has been cut. 
Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed, 
And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom, 
On the mown, dying grass; so Sohrab lay. 
Lovely in death, upon the common sand. 
And Eustum gazed on him A^■ith grief, and 
said : 
"O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son 
Whom Eustum, wert thou liis, might well 

have loved ! 
Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men 



SOHRAB AXD RUSTUM. 



469 



[lave told tbee false — thou art not Rustum's 

son. 
For Rustum had no son. One child he had — 
Hut one — a girl; who with her mother now 
Plies some light female task, nor dreams of 

us; 
Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor 
war." 
But Sohrab answered him in wrath ; for 
now 
The anguish of the deep-fixed spear grew 

fierce, 
And he desired to draw forth the steel, 
And let the blood flow free, and so to die. 
But first he would convince his stubborn foe ; 
And, rising sternly on one arm, he said : 
"Man, who art thou, who dost deny my 
words ? 
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men ; 
And falsehood, while I lived, was far from 

mine. 
[ tell thee, pricked upon this arm I bear 
That seal which Rustum to my mother gave. 
That she might prick it on the babe she bore." 
He spoke : and all the blood left Rustum's 
cheeks ; 
And his knees tottered; and he smote his 

hand 
Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand. 
That the hard iron corslet clanked aloud ; 
And to his heart he pressed the other hand, 
And in a hollow voice he spake, and said : 
" Sohrab, that were a proof Avhich could 
not lie. 
If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's 
son." 
Then, with weak, hasty fingers, Sohrab 
loosed 
His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm. 
And showed a sign in faint vermilion points 
Pricked. As a cunning workman, in Pekin, 
Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain 

vase. 
An femperor's gift ; at early morn he paints, 
And all day long ; and, when night comes, 

the lamp 
Lights up his studious forehead and thin 

hands : 
So delicately pricked the sign appeared 
On Sohrab's arm — the sign of Rustum's seal, 
it was that griffin, which of old reai-ed Zal, 



Rustum's great father, whom they left to 

die, 
A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks. 
Him that kind creature found, and reared, 

and loved ; 
Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign. 
And Sohrab bared that figure on his arm, 
And himself scanned it long with mournful 

eyes, 
And then he touched it with his hand and 
said : 
"How sayest thou? Is that sign the 
proper sign 
Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's?" 
He spoke : but Rustum gazed, and gazed, 
and stood 
Speechless; and then lie uttered one sharp 

cry— 
" 0, boy — Thy father ! " — and his voice chok- 
ed there. 
And then a dark cloud passed before his eyes. 
And his head swam, and he sank down to 

earth. 
But Sohrab crawled to where he lay, and 

cast 
His arras about his neck, and kissed his lips, 
And with fond, fiiltering fingers stroked his 

cheeks, 
Trying to call him back to life. And life 
Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes. 
And they stood wide v/ith liorror; and he 

seized 
In both his hands the dust which lay around, 
And threw it on his head, and smirched his 

hair — 
His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering 

arms ; 
And strong, convulsive groauings shook his 

breast. 
And his sobs choked him; and he clutched 

his sword 
To draw it, and for ever let life out. 
But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his 

hands; 
And with a soothing voice he spoke, and 
said : 
"Father, forbear! for I but meet to-day 
The doom that at my birth was written down 
In heaven, and thou art heaven's uncon- 
scious hand. 
Surely my heart cried out that it was thou, 



170 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



1 



When first I saw thee ; and tliy heart spoke 

too, 
I know it. But fate trod those promptings 

down 
Under its iron heel ; fate, fate engaged 
Tlie strife, and hurled me on mj father's 

spear. 
But let us speak no more of this — I find 
My father ; let me feel that I have found. 
Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take 
My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my 

cheeks, 
And wash them with tliy tears, and say, 

'My son! ' 
Quick ! quick ! for numhei'cd are my sands 

of life. 
And swift ; for like the lightning to this field 
I came, and like the wind I go away — 
Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind. 
But it was writ in heaven that this should 

be." 
So said he : and his voice released the 

heart 
Of Enstum, and his tears broke forth; he 

cast 
His arms round his son's neck, and wept 

aloud. 
And kissed him. And awe fell on both the 

hosts 
When they saw Eustum's grief; and Euksh, 

the horse, 
With his head bowing to the ground, and 

mane 
Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute 

Avoe, 
First to the one then to the other moved 
His head, as if enquiring what their grief 
Might mean; and from his dark, compas- 
sionate eyes. 
The big, warm tears rolled down, and caked 

the snnd. 
But Eustum chid him with stern voice, and 

said : 
'• Euksh, now thou grievest ; but, O Euksh, 

thy feet 
Should then have rotted on thy nimble joints. 
When first they bore thy master to this field." 
But Sohrab looked upon the horse and 

said ; 
*' Is this then Euksh ? IIow often, in past 

days, 



My mother told me of thee, thou bravt 

steed — 
My terrible father's terrible horse ! and said 
That I should one day find thy lord and 

thee. 
Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane. 
O Euksh, thou art more fortunate than I ; 
For thou hast gone where I shall never go, 
And snuffed the breezes of my father's home. 
And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan, 
And seen the river of Ilelmund, and the 

lake 
Of Zirrah ; and the aged Zal himself 
lias often stroked thy neck, and given tliee 

food — 
Corn in a golden platter soaked with wine — 
And said — ' O, Euksh ! bear Eustum well ! ' 

But I 
Have never known my grandsire's furrowed 

face, 
Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, 
Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Ilelmund 

stream ; 
But lodged among my father's foes, and 

seen 
Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, 
Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste, 
And the black Toorkmun tents; and only 

drunk 
The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, 
Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed theii 

sheep, 
The northern Sir; and this great Oxus 

stream — 
The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die." 

And, with a heavy groan, Eustum replied : 
" Oh that its waves were flowing over me ! 
Oh that I saw its grains of yellow silt 
Eoll tumbling in the current o'er my head ! " 
And, with a grave, mild voice, Sohrab re- 
plied : 
"Desire not that, my father! Thou must 

live ; 
For some are born to do great deeds, and live; 
As some are born to be obscured, and die. 
Do thou tlie deeds I die too young to do, 
And reap a second glory in thine age ; 
Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. 
But come ! thou seest this great host of men 
Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not 

these ! 



SOIIRAB AND RUSTUM. 



471 



Let 1110 entreat for tliem — what have they 

done ? 
They fullowed me, my hope, my ftane, my 

star. 
Let them all cross the Oxus hack in iieace. 
But me thou must hear hence, not send with 

them. 
But carry me with thee to Seistan, 
And place me on a bed, and mourn for me — 
Tliou, and the snow-haired Zal, and all thy 

friends. 
And thou must lay me in that lovely eartl;, 
x\nd heap a stately mound above my bones. 
And plant a far-seen pillar over all ; 
That so the passing horseman on the waste 
May see my tomb a great way off, and say : 
Sohral), the mighty Eustuiii's so?i, lies tJiere, 
Wliom Ms great father did in ignorance till — 
And I be not forgotten in my grave." 

And, with a mournful voice, Eustum re- 
plied : 
" Fear not ! as thou hast said, Solirab, my 

son, 
So shall it be ; for I will burn my tents, 
And quit the host, and bear thee hence with 

me. 
And carry thee away to Seistan, 
And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, 
With the snow-headed Zal, and all my 

friends. 
And I will lay thee in that lovely earth. 
And heap a stately mound above thy bones, 
And plant a far-seen pillar over all ; 
And men shall not forget thee in thy grave ; 
And I will spare thy host — yea, let them 

go- 
Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. 
"What should I do with slaying any more ? 
For would that all whom I have ever slain 
Might be once more alive — my bitterest foes. 
And tliey who were called champions in their 

time. 
And througli whose death I won that fame I 

liave^ 
And I were nothing but a common man, 
A poor, mean soldier, and without renown ; 
So thou mightest live too, my son, my son ! 
Or rather, would that I, even I myself, 
Might now be lying on this bloody sand, 
Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of 

thine. 



Not thou of mine ; and I might die, not thou ; 

And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan ; 

And Zal might weep above my grave, not 

thine ; 
And say — son, Iweej) thee not too sore, 
For willingly, I hioio, thou mefst thine 

end ! — 
But now in blood and battles was ray youth, 
And full of blood and battles is ray age ; 
And I shall never end this life of blood." 
Then at the point of death, Sohrab re- 
plied : — 
" A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man ! 
But thou shalt yet have peace ; only not now. 
Not yet. But thou shalt have it on that day 
When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship, 
Thou and the other peers of Kai-Khosroo, 
Returning home over the salt, blue sea. 
From laying thy dear master in his grave." 
And Rustum gazed on Sohrab's face, and 

said : — 
" Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea ! 
Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure." 
lie spoke : and Sohrab smiled on him, and 

took 
The spear, and drew it from his side, and 

eased 
His wound's imperious anguish. But the 

blood 
Came welling from the open gash, and life 
Flowed with the stream ; all down his cold 

white side 
The crimson torrent ran, dim now, and 

soiled — 
Like the soiled tissue of white violets 
Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank 
By romping children, whom their nurses call 
From the hot fields at noon. His head 

drooped low ; 
His limbs grew slack ; motionless, white, he 

lay- 
White, with eyes closed ; only when heavy 

gasps. 
Deep, heavy gasps, quivering through all his 

frame. 
Convulsed him back to life, lie opened them, 
And fixed them feebly on his father's face. 
Till now all strength was ebbed, and from his 

limbs 
Unwillingly the spirit fled aAvay, 
Regretting the warm mansion which it left. 



i72 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROTT. 



And youth and bloom, and this delightful 

world. 
So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead. 
And the great Eustum drew his horseman's 

cloak 
Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son. 
As those black granite pillars, once high- 
reared 
By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear 
Ilis house, now, mid their broken flights of 

steps, 
Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side- 
So in the sand lay Eustum by his son. 
And night came down over the solemn 

waste. 
And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair. 
And darkened all ; and a cold fog, with night, 
Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose. 
As of a great assembly loosed, and fires 
Began to twinkle through the fog ; for now 
Both armies moved to camp, and took their 

meal ; 
The Persians took It on the open sands 
Southward ; the Tartars by the river marge. 
And Eustum and his son were left alone. 

But the majestic river floated on, 
Out of tlie mist and hum of that low land. 
Into the frosty starlight, and there moved, 
Eejoicing, through the hushed Chorasmian 

waste. 
Under the solitary moon. He flowed 
Eight for the polar star, past Orgunje, 
Brinwning, and bright, and large. Then 

sands begin 
To hem his watery march, and dam his 

streams. 
And split his currents — that for many a 

league 
The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along 
Through beds of sand, and matted, rushy 

isles — 
Oxus forgetting the bright speed he had 
In his high mountain cradle in Pamere — 
A fiiiled, circuitous wanderer. Till at last 
The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and 

wide 
His luminous home of waters opens, bright 
And tranquil, from whose floor the new- 
bathed stars 
Emerge, and shine upon the Aral sea. 

Matthew Aknoi.d. 



IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNOK 

Iphigejjeia, wlien she heard her doom 
At Aulis, and when all beside the king 
Had gone away, took his right hand, and 

said: 
" O father ! I am young and very happy. 
I do not think the pious Calchas heard 
Distinctly what the goddess spake ; — old age 
Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew 
My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood. 
While I was resting on her knee both arms. 
And hitting it to make her mind my words, 
And looking in her face, and she in mine, 
Might not he, also, hear one word amiss. 
Spoken from so far oft", even from Olympus ? " 
The father placed his cheek upon her head. 
And tears di'opt down it ; but the king of 

men 
Eeplied not. Then the maiden spake once 

more. 
"O father! sajest thou nothing? Ilearest 

thou not 
Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour, 
Listened to fondly, and awakened me 
To hear my voice amid the voice of birds, 
When it was inarticulate as theirs. 
And the down deadened it within the nest ? " 
He moved her gently from him, silent still ; 
And this, and this alone, brought tears from 

her, 
Although she saw fate nearer. Then with 

sighs : 
"I thought to have laid down my hair before 
Benignant Artemis, and not dimmed 
Her polished altar with my virgin blood ; 
I thought to have selected the white flowers 
To please the nymphs, and to have asked of 

each 
By name, and with no sorrowful regret. 
Whether, since both my parents willed tho 

change, 
I might at Hymen's feet bend my dipt brow ; 
And (after these who mind us girls the most) 
Adore- our own Athene, that she would 
Eegard me mildly with her azure eyes — 
But, father, to see you no more, and see 
Your love, O father ! go ere I am gone ! " 
Gently he moved her oflf, and drew her back 
Bending his lofty head far over hers ; 



THE LAMEXTATIOX FOR CELIN. 



And the dark depths of nature heaved and 

hurst. 
He turned away — not far, hut silent still 
She now first shuddered ; for in him, so nigh, 
So long a silence seemed the approach of 

death, 
And like it. Once again she raised her voice : 
" father ! if the ships are now detained, 
And all your vows move not the gods ahove, 
"When the knife strikes me tliere will he one 

prayer 
The less to thein ; and purer can there be 
Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's 

prayer 
For her dear father's safety and success ? " 
A groan that shook him shook not his resolve. 
An aged man now entered, and without 
One word, stepped slowly on, and took the 

wrist 
Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw 
The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes. 
Then turned she where her parent stood, and 

cried : 
"0 father! grieve no more: the ships can 

sail." 

"Waltek Savage Landoe. 



THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIK 

At the gate of old Granada, wlien all its bolts 
are barred. 

At twilight, at the Vega-gate, there is a 
trampling heard ; 

There is a trampling heard, as of horses tread- 
ing slow. 

And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy 
sound of woe. 

What tower is fallen? what star is set? what 
chief comes these bewailing? 

" A tower is fallen, a star is set ! Alas ! alas 
for Celiu ! " 

Tiiree times lliey knock — three times they 
cry— and wide the doors they throw; 

Dejectedly they enter, aiid mournfully they go ; 

[n gloomy lines they, mustering, stand be- 
neath the hollow porch. 

Each horseman grasping in his hand a black 
and flaming torch ; 
61 



Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around 

is wailing. 
For all have heard the misery. — " Alas 1 alas 

for Celin ! " 
Him, yesterday, a Moor did slaj^, of Bencer- 

raje's blood — 
'Twas at the solemn jousting — around the 

nobles stood ; 
The nobles of the land were by, and ladies 

bright and fair 
Looked from their latticed windows, the 

haughty sight to share ; 
But now the nobles all lament — the ladies are 

bewailing — 
For he was Granada's darling knight — "Alas! 

alas for Celin ! " 

Before him ride his vassals, in order two by 
two, 

With ashes on their turbans spread, most piti- 
ful to view ; 

Behind him his four sisters, each wrapped in 
sable veil, 

Between the tambour's dismal strokes take 
up their doleful tale ; 

When stops the mulBed drum ye hear their 
brotlierless bewailing, 

And all the people, far and near, cry — "Alas! 
alas for Celin ! " 

• 

Oh! lovely lies he on the bier, above the 
purple pall, — 

Tlie flower of all Granada's youth, the love- 
liest of them all ; 

His dark, dark ej'es are closed ; his rosy lip is 
pale ; 

The crust of blood lies black and dim upon 
his burnished mail ; 

And ever more the hoarse tambour breaks in 
upon their wailing — 

Its sound is like no earthly sound — "Alas! 
alas for Celin ! " 

The Moorish maid at the lattice stands — the 

Moor stands at his door ; 
One maid is wringing of her hands, and one 

is weeping sore ; 
Down to the dust men bow their heads, and 

ashes black they strev/ 
Upon their broidered garments of crimson, 

green and blue ; 



474 



POEMS or TRAGEDY AND SOEROW. 



Before each gate the bier stands still — then 

bursts tbe loud bewailing 
From door and lattice, higli and \o^Y■ — " Alas ! 

alas for Celin ! " 

An old, old woman cometli fortli, Avlien she 

hears the people cry — 
Her hair is white as silver, like horn her 

glazed eye : 
'T vras she that nursed him at her breast — 

that nursed him long ago ; 
She knoAVS not whom they all lament, but 

soon she well shall know ! 
With one deep shriek, she through doth break, 

when her ears receive their wailing — 
"Let me kiss my Celin ere I die — Alas ! alas 

for Celin!" 

Moorish Ballad. 
Translation of J. G. Lockhaet. 



A VERY MOUENFUL BALLAD. 

ox TUE SIEGE AND CONQUEST OF ALHAMA, 

WHICH, IN TnE ARABIC LANGUAGE, IS 

TO THE FOLLOWING PUEPOKT : 

The Moorish king rides up and down 
ThroTigh Granada's royal town; 
From Elvira's gates to those 
Of Bivarambla on he goes. 

Wo is 7ne, AUtama ! 

].etters to the monarch tell 
IIow Albania's city fell : 
Li the tire the scroll he threw, 
And the messenger he slew. 

Wo is me, AUiama ! 

lie quits his mule and mounts his horse. 
And through the street directs his course ; 
Through the street of Zacatin 
To the Alhambra spurring in. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

When the Alhambra's walls he gained. 
On the moment he ordained 
That the trumpet straight should sound 
"With the silver clarion round. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 



And when the hollow drums of war 
Beat the loud alarm afar, 
That the Moors of town and plain 
Might answer to the martial strain. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Then the Moors, by this aware 
That bloody Mars recalled them there, 
One by one, and two by two, 
To a mighty squadron grew. 

Wo is me, Alhama! 

Out then spake an aged Moor, 
In these words the king before : 
"Wherefore call on us, king? 
What may mean this gathering?" 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" Friends ! ye have, alas ! to know 
Of a most disastrous blow — 
That the Christians, stern and bold. 
Have obtained Albania's hold." 

Wo is me. Alhama / 

Out then spake old Alfaqui, 

With his beard so white to see : 

" Good king ! thou art justly served — 

Good king! this thou hast deserved. 

Wo is me, Alhama I 

"By thee were slain, in evil hour, 
The Abencerrage, Granada's flower ; 
And strangers were received by thee. 
Of Cordova the chivalry. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

"And for this, king! is sent 
On thee a double chastisement ; 
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm. 
One last wreck shall overwhelm. 

Wo is me, A Ihama f 

" He who holds no laws in awe, 
He must perish by the law ; 
And Granada must be won, 
And thyself with her undone." 

Wo is vie, Alhama f 

Fire flashed from out the old Moor's eyes. 
The mfmarch's wrath began to rise : 



THE FISHERMEN. 



4'7r> 



Ijecauso Le answerefl, and because 
lie spake exceeding well of laws. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" Tliere is no law to say sucli tilings 
As may disgust the ear of kings : " — 
Thus, snorting with his choler, said 
The Moorish king, and doomed him dead. 
Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Moor Alfaqui ! Moor Alfaqui ! 
Though thy beard so hoary be, 
The king hath sent to have thee seized, 
For Albania's loss displeased — 

Wo is me, AUiama ! 

And to fix thy head upon 
High Alhambra's loftiest stone ; 
That this for thee should be the law, 
And others tremble when they saw. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" Cavalier, and man of worth ! 
Let these words of mine go forth ; 
Let the Moorish monarch know 
That to him I nothing owe. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

"But on my soul Albania Aveighs, 
And on my inmost spirit preys ; 
And if the king his land hath lost, 
Yet others may have lost the most. 

Wo is me, Alhama I 

"Sires have lost their children, wives 
Their lords, and valiant men their lives ; 
One what best liis love might claim 
Ilath lost; another, wealth or fame. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" I lost a damsel in that hour. 
Of all the land the loveliest flower ; 
Doubloons a hundred I would pay, 
And think her ransom cheap that day." 
Wo is me, Alhama ! 

And as these things the old Moor said. 
They severed from the trunk his liead ; 
And to the Alhambra's walls with speed 
'T was carried, as the king decreed. 

Wo is me, Allmma! 



And men and infants therein weep 
Their loss, so heavy and so deep ; 
Granada's ladies, all she rears 
Within her walls, burst into tears. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

And from the windows o'er the walls 
The sable web of mourning falls ; 
The king weeps as a woman o'er 
Ilis loss, for it is much and sore. 

Wo is me, Alhama I 
Anonymous (Spiinish). 
Translation of Lord Bykon. 



THE FISHERMEK 

Three fishers went sailing out into the 
west — 
Out into the west as the sun went down ; 
Each thought of the woman who loved him 
the best, 
And the children stood watching them out 
of the town ; 
For men must work, and women must weep; 
And there 's little to earn, and many to keep, 
Though the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three wives sat up in the light-house tower, 
And trimmed the lamps as the sun went 
down; 
And they looked at the squall, and they 
looked at the shower, 
And the rack it came rolling up, ragged 
and brown ; 
But men must work, and women must weep, 
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, 
And the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 
In the morning gleam as the tide went 
down. 
And the women are watching and wringing 
their hands, 
For those who will never come back to 
the town ; 
For men must work, and women must 

weep — 
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to 
sleep — 
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning, 
Charles Kihgslev. 



476 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



THE PRISONER OF OHILLON". 

Eteexal spirit of the chfiinless miud ! 

Brightest in dungeons, liberty, thou art, 

For there thy habitation is the heart — 

The heart -which love of thee alone can bind ; 

And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — 

To fetters, and tlie damp vault's dayless 

gloom — 
Their country conquers with their martyr- 
dom. 
And freedom's fame finds wings on every 

wind. 
Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, 

And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod 
Until his very steps have left a trace. 

Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
By Bonnivard! — May none those marks ef- 

foce ! 
For they appeal from tyranny to God. 



My hair is gray, but not with years, 
Nor grew it white 
In a single night, 
As men's have grown from sudden fears ; 
My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, 

But rusted with a vile repose ; 
For they have been a dungeon's spoil. 

And mine has been the fate of those 
To whom the goodly earth and air 
Are banned and barred^forbidden fare. 
But this was for my father's faith 
I suffered chains and courted death. 
That father perished at the stake 
For tenets he would not forsake ; 
And for the same his lineal race 
In darkness found a dwelling-place. 
We were seven, who now are one — 

Six in youth, and one in age. 
Finished as they had begun, 

Proud of persecution's rage ; 
One in fire, and two in field. 
Their belief with blood have sealed — 
Dying as their father died. 
For the God their foes denied; 
Three were in a dungeon cast, 
Of whom this wreck is left the last. 



There are seven pillars, of Gothic mould, 
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old ; 
There are seven columns, massy and gray, 
Dim with a dull imprisoned ray — 
A sunbeam Avhich hath lost its way. 
And through the crevice and the cleft 
Of the thick wall is fallen and left — 
Creeping o'er the floor so damp. 
Like a marsh's meteor lamp ; 
And in each pillar there is a ring, 

And in each ring there is a chain ; 
That iron is a cankering thing. 

For in these limbs its teeth remain. 
With marks that Avill not wear away 
Till I have done with this new day. 
Which now is painful to these eyes, 
Which have not seen the sun so rise 
For years — I cannot count them o'er ; 
I lost their long and heavy score 
When my last brother drooped and died. 
And I lay living by his side. 



They chained us each to a column stone ; 
And we Avere three — yet, each alone 
We could not move a single pace ; 
We could not see each other's face, 
But with that pale and livid light 
That made us strangers in our sight ; 
And thus together, yet apart — 
Fettered in hand, but joined in heart ; 
'T was still some solace, in the dearth 
Of the pure elements of earth. 
To hearken to each other's speech. 
And each turn comforter to each — 
With some new hope, or legend old, 
Or song heroically bold ; 
But even these at length grew cold. 
Our voices took a dreary tone, 
An echo of the dungeon-stone, 

A grating sound — not full and free, 
As they of yore Avere Avont to be ; 
It might be fancy — but to me 
They never sounded like our own. 

IV. 

I was the eldest of the threes 

And to uphold and cheer the rest 
I ought to do, and did, my best^— 

And each did Avell in his degree. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



477 



The youngest, whom my father loved, 
Because crur mother's brow was given 
To him— with eyes as blue as heaven— 

For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
Aud truly might it be distre&t 
To see such bird in such a nest ; 
For he was beautiful as day 

(When day Avas beautiful to me 

As to young eagles, being free), 

A polar day, which will not see 
A sunset till its summer 's gone — 

Its sleepless summer of long light. 
The snow-clad offspring of the sun : 

And thus he was, as pure and bright, 
And in his natural spirit gay, 
With tears for naught but other's ills ; 
And then they flowed like mountain rills, 
Unless he could assuage the woe 
Wliich he abhorred to view below. 



The other was as pure of mind, 
But formed to combat with his kind ; 
Strong in his frame, and of a mood 
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood. 
And perished in the foremost rank 

With joy ; but not in chains to pine. 
His spirit withered with their clank ; 

I saw it silently decline — 

And so, perchance, in sooth, did mine! 
But yet I forced it on, to cheer 
Those relics of a home so dear, 
lie was a hunter of the hills, 

Had followed there the deer and wolf; 
To him this dungeon was a gulf, 
And fettered feet the worst of ills. 



Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls. 
A thousand feet in depth below, 
Its massy waters meet and flow ; 
Thus much the fathom-line Avas sent 
From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 

Whicli round about the wave enthrals ; 
A double dungeon wall and wave 
Have made — and like a living grave. 
Below the surface of the lake 
The dark vault lies wherein we lay; 
We heard it rii)ple night and day ; 

Sounding o'er our heads it knocked. 
And ] have felt the winter's spray 



Wash through the bars when winds were 
high, 

And wanton in the happy sky ; 

And then the very rock hath rocked. 
And I have felt it shake, uushocked ; 

Because I could have smiled to see 

The death that would have set me free. 



I said my nearer brother pined ; 
I said his mighty heart declined. 
He loathed aud put away his food ; 
It Avas not that 't was coarse and rude, 
For we were used to hunter's fare. 
And for the like had little care. 
The milk drawn from the mountain goat 
Was changed for water fi-om the moat ; 
Our bread was such as captives' tears 
Have moistened many a thousand years, 
Since man first pent his fellow-men, 
Like brutes, within an iron den. 
But what were these to us or him ? 
These wasted not his heart or limb ; 
My brother's soul was of that mould 
Which in a palace had grown cold, 
Had his free breathing been denied 
The range of the steep mountain's side. 
But why delay the truth ? — ^he died. 
I saw, and could not hold his head, 
Nor reach his dying hand — ^nor dead, 
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, 
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 
He died — and they unlocked his chain, 
Aud scooped for him a shallow grave 
Even from the cold earth of our cave. 
I begged them, as a boon, to lay 
His corse in dust whereon the day 
Might shine — it was a foolish thought ; 
But then within my brain it wrought, 
That even in death his freeborn breast 
In such a dungeon could not rest. 
I might have spared my idle prayer — 
They coldly laughed, and laid him there, 
Tlie flat and turtiess earth above 
The being we so much did love ; 
His empty chain above it leant — 
Such murder's fitting monument ! 



But he, the favorite and the flower, 
Most cherished since his natal hour, 



178 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



His mother's image iu fair face, 
The infant love of all his race, 
Ilis martyred fatlier's dearest thonglit, 
My latest care — for whom I sought 
To hoard my life, that his might be 
Less wretched now, and one day free- 
He, too, who yet had held uutired 
A spirit natural or inspired — 
He, too, was struck, and day by day 
Was withered on the stalk away. 

God ! it is a fearful thing 

To see the hum'an soul take wing 
In any shape, in any mood : 

1 've seen it rushing forth in blood ; 
I 've seen it on the breaking ocean 
Strive Avith a swollen, convulsive motion ; 
I 've seen the sick and ghastly bed 

Of sin, delirious with its dread ; 

But these were horrors — this was woe 

Unmixed with such — but sure and slow. 

He faded, and so calm and meek, 

So softly worn, so sweetly weak, 

So tearless, yet so tender — kind. 

And grieved for those he left behind ; 

With all the while a cheek whose bloom 

Was as a mockery of the tomb, 

Whose tints as gently sunk away 

As a departing rainbow's ray — 

An. eye of most transparent light, 

That almost made the dungeon briglit, 

And not a word of murmur, not 

A groan o'er his untimely lot — 

A little talk of better days, 

A little hope my own to raise ; 

For I was sunk in silence — ^lost 

In this last loss, of all the most. 

And then the sighs he would suppress 

Of fainting nature's feebleness, 

More slowly drawn, grew less and less. 

I listened, but I could not hear — 

I called, for I was wild with fear ; 

I knew 't was hopeless, but my dread 

Would not be thus admonished ; 

called, and thought I heard a sound — 
I burst my chain with one strong bound. 
And rushed to him : I found him not. 
I only stirred in this black spot ; 
I only lived — I only drew 
The accursed breath of dungeon-dew ; 
The last, the sole, the dearest link 
Between me and the eternal brink, 



Which bound me to my failing race, 
Was Droken in this fatal place. 
One on the earth, and one beneath — 
My brothers — both had ceased to breathe. 
I took that hand which lay so still — 
Alas! my own was full as chill; 
I had not strength to stir or strive. 
But felt that I was still alive — 
A frantic feeling, when we know 
That what we love shall ne'er be so. 

I know not why 

I could not die, 
I had no earthly hope — but faith, 
And that forbade a s-elfish death. 



Wh.at next befell me then and there 
I know not well — I never knew. 

First camo the loss of light and air, 
And then of darkness too. 

I had no thought, no feeling — none : 

Among the stones I stood a stone ; 

And was, scarce conscious what I wi?t, 

As shrubless crags within the mist ; 

For all was blank, and bleak, and gray ; 

It was not night — it was not day ; 

It was not even the dungeon-light, 

So hateful to my heavy sight; 

But vacancy absorbing space. 

And fixedness, without a place ; 

There were no stars, no earth, no time, 

oSTo check, no change, no good, no crhne ; 

But silence, and a stirless breath 

Which neither was of life nor death — 

A sea of stagnant idleness, 

Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless. 



A light broke in upon my brain — 

It was the carol of a bird ; 
It ceased, and then it came again — 
The sweetest song ear ever heard ; 
And mine was thankful till my eyes 
Ean over with the glad surprise. 
And they that moment could not see 
I was the mate of mi^ery ; 
But then, by dull degrees came back 
My senses to their wonted track : 
I saw the dungeon walls and floor 
Close slowly round me as before ; 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON, 



479 



• I saw the glimmer of the sun 
Creeping as it before Lad done ; 
But through the crevice where it came 
That bird was perched as fond and tame, 

And tamer than upon the tree — 
A lovely bird with azure wings, 
And song that said a thousand things, 

And seemed to say them all for me! 
I never saAv its like before — 
I ne'er shall see its likeness more. 
It seemed, like me, to want a mate, 
But was not half so desolate ; 
And it was come to love me when 
None lived to love me so again, 
And, cheering from my dungeon's brink. 
Had brought me back to feel and think. 
I know not if it late were free. 

Or broke its cage to perch on mine ; 
But knowing well captivity. 

Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine — 
Or if it were, in winged guise, 
A visitant from Paradise ; 
For — heaven forgive that thought, the while 
Which made me both to weep and smile ! — 
I sometimes deemed that it might be 
My brother's soul come down to me ; 
But then at last away it flew, 
, And then 't was mortal well 1 knew ; 
For he would never thus have flown. 
And left me twice so doubly lone — 
Lone as the corse within its shroud. 
Lone as a solitary cloud, 

A single cloud on a sunny day, 
While all the rest of heaven is clear, 
A frown upon the atmosphere. 
That hath no business to appear 

When skies are blue, and earth is gay. 



A kind of cliange came in my fate — 
My keepers grew compassionate. 
I know not what had made them so — 
They were inured to sights of woe ; 
But so it was — my broken chain 
With links unfastened did remain ; 
And it was liberty to stride 
Along my cell from side to side, 
And up and down, and then athwart. 
And tread it over every part ; 
And round the pillars one by one, 
lleturning where my walk begun — 



Avoiding only, as I trod. 

My brothers' graves without a sod ; 

For if I thought with heedless tread 

My step profaned their lowly bed. 

My breath came gaspingly and thick, 

And my crushed heart fell blind and sick. 



I made a footing in the wall : 
It was not therefrom to escape. 

For I had buried one and all 
Who loved me in a human shape ; 

And the whole earth would henceforth bo 

A wider prison unto me ; 

iSTo child, no sire, no kin had I, 

No partner in my misery; 

I thought of this, and I was glad, 

For thought of them had made me mad ; 

But I was curious to ascend 

To my barred windows, and to bend 

Once more upon the mountains high 

The quiet of a loving eye. 



I saw them — and they were the same ; 
They were not changed, like me, in frame ; 
I saw their thousand years of snow 
On high — their wide, long lake below, 
And the blue Ehone in fullest flow ; 
I heard the torrents leap and gush 
O'er channelled rock and broken bush ; 
I saw the white- walled distant town. 
And whiter sails go skimming down ; 
And then there was a little isle, 
Which in my very face did smile— 

The only one in view ; 
A small, green isle, it seemed no more, 
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor ; 
But in it there were three tall trees. 
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, 
And by it there were waters flowing. 
And on it there were young flowers growing 

Of gentle breath and hue. 
The fish swam by the castle wall, 
And they seemed joyous, each and all; 
The eagle rode the rising blast — 
Methought he never flew so fast 
As then to me he seemed to fly ; 
And then new tears came in my eye, 
And I felt troubled, and Avould fain 
I had not left my recent chain ; 



480 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



And vrlien I did descend again. 
The darkness of my dim abode 
Fell on me as a heavy load ; 
It was as is a new-dug grave, 
Closing o'er one we sought to save ; 
And yet my glance, too much opprest, 
Ilad almost need of such a rest. 



It might be months, or years, or days — 

I kept no count, I took no note — 
I had no hope my eyes to raise. 

And clear them of their dreary mote ; 
At last came men to set me free, 

I asked not why, and recked not where ; 
It Avas at length the same to me. 
Fettered or fetterless to be ; 

I learned to love despair. 
And thus, when they appeared at last, 
And all my bonds aside were cast, 
Those heavy walls to me had grown 
A hermitage — and all ray own! 
And half I felt as they were come 
To tear me from a sacred home. 
With spiders I had friendship made, 
And watched them in their sullen trade ; 
Had seen the mice by moonlight play — 
And why should I feel less than they ? 
We were all inmates of one place. 
And I, the monarch of each race, 
Had power to kill ; yet, strange to tell I 
In quiet we had learned to dwell. 
My very chains and I grew friends. 
So much a long communion tends 
To make us what we are : — even I 
Regained my freedom with a sigh. 

LOKD BiKON. 



THE SEA. 

TnKOTiGn the night, through the night, 

In the saddest unrest, 
Wrapt in white, all in white. 

With her babe on lier breast. 
Walks the mother so pale, 
Staring out on the gale 

Through the night! 



Through the night, through the night, 
Where the sea lifts the wreck. 

Land in sight, close in sight, 
On the surf-flooded deck 

Stands the father so brave. 

Driving on to his grave 
Through the night ! 

EicHAED Henry Stoddard. 



THE KING OF DENMAEK'S EIDE. 

Word Avas brought to the Danish king 

(Hurry!) 
That the love of his heart lay suffering, 
And pined for the comfort his voice Avould 
bring; 

(Oh ! ride as though you were flying !) 
Better he loves each golden curl 
On the broAV of that Scandinavian girl 
Than his rich crown jeAvels of ruby and pearl : 
And his rose of the isles is dying ! 

Thirty nobles saddled with speed ; 

(Hurry!) 
Each one mounting a gallant steed 
Which he kept for battle and days of need ; 

(Oh! ride as though you Avere flying !) 
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;- 
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank ; 
Bridles were slackened, and girths Avere burst ; 
But ride as they would, the king rode first, 
For his rose of the isles lay dying ! 

His nobles are beaten, one by one ; 

(Hurry!) 
They have fainted, and faltered, and home- 

Avard gone ; 
His little fair page noAV folloAvs alone. 

For strength and for courage trying ! 
The king looked back at that faithful child ; 
Wan Avas the face that answering smiled ; 
They passed the drawbridge Avith clattering 

din, 
Then he dropped; and only the king rode ir. 
Where his rose of the isles lay dying ! 

The king blcAV a blast on his bugle horn ; 

(Silence !) 
No answer came ; but faint and forlorn 
An echo returned on the cold grey morn, 



LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 



481 



Like the breath of a spirit sighing. 
The castle portal stood grimly wide ; 
None ■welcomed the king from that ^yeary 

ride ; 
For dead, in the light of the dawning day, 
Tlie pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, 
Who had yearned for his voice while dying ! 

The panting steed, with a drooping crest, 

Stood weary. 
The king returned from her chamber of rest, 
The thick sobs choking in his breast ; 

And, that dumb companion eyeing, 
The tears gushed forth which he strove to 

check ; 
He bowed his head on his charger's neck : 
" steed — that every nerve didst strain, 
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain 
To the halls where my love lay dying! " 
Cakoline Noktop, 



LOED ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound. 
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry ! 

And I '11 give thee a silver pound 
To row us o'er the ferry." 

"Xow who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water ? " 

" Oh, I 'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 

*'And fast before her father's men 
Three days we 've fled togetlier ; 

For should he find us in the glen, 
My blood would stain the heather. 

" His horsemen hard behind us ride ; 

Should they our steps discover, 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride 

When they have slain her lover ? " 

Out spoke the h.ardy Highland Avight, 
" I '11 go, my chief — I 'm ready. 

It is not for your silver bright, 
But for your Avinsome lady. 
65 



"And by my word ! the bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry ; 
So though the waves are raging white, 

I '11 row you o'er the ferry." 

By this the storm grew loud apace ; 

The water- wraith was shrieking ; 
And in the scowl of heaven each face 

Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind. 
And as the night grew drearer, 

Adown the glen rode armed men — 
Their trampling sounded nearer. 

" O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, 
" Though tempests round us gather ; 

I '11 meet the raging of the skies, 
But not an angry father." 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her — 
When, oh ! too strong for human hand, 

The tempest gathered o'er her. 

And still they rowed amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing- 
Lord UUin reached that fatal shore ; 

His wrath was changed to wailing. 

For sore dismayed, through storm and 
shade 

His child he did discover ; 
One lovely hand she stretched for aid, 

And one Avas round her lover. 

" Come back ! come back ! " he cried in 
grief, 

"Across this stormy water ; 
And I '11 forgi\-e your Highland chief, 

My daughter !— O my daughter ! " 

'TAvas A-ain:— the loud vraves lashed the 
shore, 
Return or aid preventing. 
The waters wild went o'er his child. 
And he Avas left lamenting. 

TuoMAfl Campbkli, 



482 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



OS THE LOSS OF THE EOYAL GEOEGE. 

•WPJTTEX AVIIEX THE NEWS ARRIVED. 

Toll for the brave^ 

The brave that are no more ! 

All sunk beneath the wave, 
East by their native shore ! 

Eight hundred of the brave, 
"Whose courage well was tried, 

Had made the vessel heel. 
And laid her on her side. 

A land breeze shook the shrouds, 

And she was overset — 
Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought. 

His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle ; 

IsTo tempest gave the shock ; 
She sprang no fatal leak ; 

She ran upon no rock. 

His sword was in its sheath ; 

His fingers held the pen. 
When Kempenfelt went down 

With twice four hundred men. 

Weigh the vessel up, 

Once dreaded by our foes ! 

And mingle with our cup 
The tear that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound, 
And she may float again, 

Eull charged with England's thunder. 
And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone — 

His victories are o'er ; 
And he and his eiglit hundred 

Shall plough the waves no more. 

William Cowper. 



THE INCHOAPE ROCK. 

ISTo stir in the air, no stir in the sea — 
The ship was still as she might be ; 
Her sails from heaven received no motion; 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

Without cither sign or sound of their shock. 
The waves flowed over tlie Inchcape rock ; 
So little they rose, so little they fell, 
They did not move the Inchcape bell. 

The holy abbot of Aberbrothok 

Had floated that bell on the Inchcape rock ; 

On the 'waves of the storm it floated and 

swung, 
And louder and louder its warning rung. 

V 

When the rock was hid by the tempest's swell, 
The mariners heard the warning bell ; 
And then they knew the perilous rock. 
And blessed the priest of Aberbrothok. 

The sun in heaven shone so. gay — 

All things were joyful on that day ; 

The sea-birds screamed as they sported round. 

And there was pleasui'O in their sound. 

The float of the Inchcape bell was seen, 
A darker speck on the ocean green ; 
Sir Ralph the rover walked his deck, 
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering poAver of spring — 
It made him whistle, it made him sing ; 
His heart was mirthful to excess ; 
But the rover's mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the bell and float : 
Quoth he, "My men, pull out the boat; 
And row me to the Inchcape rock. 
And I '11 plague the' priest of Aberbrothok." 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, 
And to the Inchcape rock they go ; 
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, 
And cut the warning bell from the float. 

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound ; 
The bubbles rose, and burst around. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 



483 



Quoth Sir Ralph, " The next who comes to 

the rock 
Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok." 

Sir Ralph the rover sailed away — 
lie scoured the seas for many a day ; 
And now, grown rich with plundered store, 
He steers his course to Scotland's shore. 

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, 
They could not see the sun on high ; 
The wind had blown a gale all day ; 
At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the rover takes his stand; 
So dark it is, they see no laud. 
Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon. 
For there is the dawn of the rising moon." 

" Canst hear," said one, " the breakers roar? 
For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. 
Now where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell." 
/ 

They hear no sound ; the swell is strong ; 
Tliougli the wind hath fallen they drift along 
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock- 
O Christ ! it is the Inchcape rock ! 

EOBEKT SOUTHET. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

It was the schooner Hesperus 

That sailed tlie wintry sea; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 

Blue Avere her eyes as the fairy flax. 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day. 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm ; 

His pipe was in his mouth ; 
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 

Tlie smoke, now west, now south. 



Then up and spake an old sailor. 

Had sailed the Spanish main : 
" I pray thee, put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. 



" Last night the moon had a golden ring, 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 

The skipper he blew a whifFfrom his pipe, 
And a scornful lauG-h lau2;hod he. 



Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the northeast ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 



"Come hither! come hither! my little daugh- 
ter, 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 



He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar. 

And bound her to the mast. 



" father ! I hear the church-bells ring ; 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
"'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast! " 

And he steered for the open sea. 

" father ! I hear the sound of guns ; 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 

"0 father! I see a gleaming light ; 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
But the father answered never a word — 

A frozen corpse was he. 



484 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies, 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming 
snow" 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and 
prayed 
That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the 
"wave 
On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and 
drear, 

Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever, the fitful gusts between, 
A sound came from the land ; 

It was the sound of the trampling surf 
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakei's were right beneath her bows ; 

She drifted a dreary wreck ; 
And a whooping billow swept the crew. 

Like icicles, from her deck. 

Slie struck wliere the wliite and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool ; 
But the cruel rocks they gored her side 

Like the borns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice. 
With the mast went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank — ■ 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed closfe to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast. 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ; 

Christ save us all from a death like this. 
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 

IIenkt Wadswoeth Longfellow. 



THE MARINER'S DREAM. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay; 
His hammock swung loose at the sport of 
the wind; 
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew 
. away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his 
mind. 

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native 

bowers. 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry 

morn ; 
While memory stood sideways half covered 

with flowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted its 

thorn. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy 

rise ; 
Now far, far behind him the green water? 

glide. 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his 

eyes. 

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the 
thatch. 
And the swallow chirps sweet from her 
nest in the wall ; 
All trembling with transport, he raises the 
latch, 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his 
call. 

A father bends o'er iiim wdth looks of de- 
light; 
His cheek is impearled with a mo'ther's \ravm 
tear; 
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom 
holds dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his 
breast ; 
Joy quickens his pulses — ^liis hardships seem 
o'er ; 



HOWS MY BOY. 



485 



A.n(l a murmur of happiness steals through 
his rest — 
" God ! thou hast blost me — I ask for no 
more." 

Ah ! whence is that flame which now bursts 
on his eye ? 
Ah! what is that sound which now 'larms 
on his ear ? 
'T is the lightning's red gleam, painting hell 
on the sky ! 
'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of 
the sphere ! 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to 
the deck ; 
Amazement confronts him with images 
dire ; 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel 
a wreck ; 
The masts fly in splinters ; the shrouds are 
on fii-e. 

I-ike mountains the billows tremendously 
swell ; 
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to 
save ; 
Daseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 
And the death-angel flaps his broad wings 
o'er the wave ! 

sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight ! 
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work 
of bliss. 
Where now is the picture that fancy touched 
bright — 
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's 
honeyed kiss ? 

O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again 
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes 
repay ; 
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the 
main, 
Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for 
thee. 
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless 
surge , 



But the white foam of waves shall thy wind- 
ing-sheet be, 
And Avinds in the midnight of winter thy 
. dirge ! 

On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall 
be laid — 
Around thy white bones the red coral shall 
grow ; 
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be 
made. 
And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, montlis years, and ages shall circle 
away. 
And still the vast waters above thee shall 
roll ; 
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye — 
sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to tliy 
soul ! 

William Dimond. 



HOW'S MY BOY? 

" IIo, sailor of the sea ! 

How 's my boy — my boy ? " 

" What 's your boy's name, good wife, 

And in what good ship sailed he? " 

" My boy John — 

He that went to sea — 

What care I for the ship, sailor ? 

My boy's my boy to me. 

" You come back from sea, 
And not know my John ? 
I might as well have asked some lands- 
man, 
Y^onder down in the town. 
There 's not an ass in all the parish 
But knows my John. 

"How 's my boy — my boy? 
And unless you let me know 
I '11 swear you are no sailor, 
Bluejacket or no — 
Brass buttons or no, sailor, 
Anchor and crown or no — 



4S(J 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Sure Lis ship was the 'Jolly Briton' " — 
" Speak low, woman, speak low !" 

" And why should I speak low, sailor. 

About my own boy John ? 

If I was loud as I am proud 

I 'd sing him over the town ! 

Why should I speak low, sailor? " — 

" That good ship went down." 

'' How 's my boy — my boy ? 

What care I for the ship, sailor — 

I was never aboard her. 

Be she afloat or be she aground, 

Sinking or swimming, I '11 be bound 

Her owners can aiford her ! 

I say, how 's my John ? " — 

" Every man on board Avent down. 

Every man aboard her." 

" How 's my boy — my boy ? 
What care I for the men, sailor ? 
I 'm not their mother — 
How 's my boy — my boy ? 
Tell me of him and no other ! 
How 's my boy — my boy ? " 

Sypney Dobell. 



TOM BOWLING. 

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, 

The darling c^f our crew ; 
No more he '11 hear the tempest hoAvling — 

For death has broached him to. 
His form Avas of the manliest beauty ; 

His -heart was kind and soft ; 
Faithful below, he did his duty ; 

But now he 's gone aloft. 

Tom never from his Avord departed — 

His virtues were so rare ; 
His friends Avere many and true-heai"ted ; 

His Poll Avas kind and fair. 
And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly — 

Ah, many's the time and oft ! 
But mirth is turned to melancholy, 
For Tom is gone aloft. 



Yet shall poor Tom lind pleasant weather. 

When He, who all commands, 
Shall giA^e, to call life's crew together, 

The Avord to pipe all hands. 
Thus death, who kings and tars despatches 

In vain Tom's life has dofted ; 
For, though his body's under hatches, 

His soul is gone aloft. 

Charles Dibdin. 



THE MOON WAS A- WANING. 

The moon was a-waning. 

The tempest was over ; 
Fair was the maiden, 

And fond Avas the lover ; 
But the snow was so deep 

That his heart it grew Aveary; 
And he sunk down to sleep, 

In the moorland so dreary. 

Soft was the bed 

She had made for her lover. 
White were the sheets 

And embroidered the cover ; 
But his sheets are more Avhite, 

And his canopy grander ; 
And sounder he sleeps 

Where the hill foxes wander. 

Alas, pretty maiden, 

What sorrows attend you! 
I see you sit shivering, 

With lights at your AvindoAV; 
But long may you Avait 

Ere your arms shall enclose hira; 
For still, still he lies, 

With a wreath on his bosom ! 

How painful the task 

The sad tidings to tell you ! — 
An orphan you were 

Ere this misery befell you ; 
And far in yon Avild, 

Where the dead-tapers hover, 
So cold, cold and Avan, 

Lies the corpse of your lover! 

James Hogg. 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 



48"? 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 

'T WAS in the prime of snmmci- time, 

An evening calm and cool, 
And four-and-t-wenty happy boys 

Came bounding out of school ; 
There were some that ran and some that 
leapt, 

Like troutlcts in a pool. 

Away they sped with gamesome minds 

And souls untouched by sin ; 
To a level mead tliey came, and there 

Tliey drave the wickets in : 
Pleasantly shone the setting sim 

Over the town of Lynn. 

Like sportive deer they coursed about, 

And shouted as they ran — 
Turning to mirth all things of earth. 

As only boyhood can ; 
Bui the usher sat remote from all, 

A melancholy man ! 

His hat was off, his vest apart. 
To catch heaven's blessed breeze ; 

For a burning thought was in his brow. 
And his bosom ill at ease ; 

So he leaned his head on his hands, and 
read 
The book between his knees ! 

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, 

ISTor ever glanced aside ; 
For tlie peace of his soul he read that book 

In the golden eventide ; 
]\Iuch study had made him very lean, 

And pale, and leaden eyed. 

At last he shut the ponderous tome ; 

^Vith a fast and fervent grasp 
lie strained the dusky covers close, 

And fixed the brazen hasp : 
" 0, God ! could I so close my mind, 

And clasp it with a clasp ! " 

Then leaping on his feet upright, 
Some moody turns he took — 



Now up the mead, then down the mead. 

And past a shady nook — 
And, lo ! he saw a little boy 

That pored upon a book ! 



" My gentle lad, what is 't you read- 
Romance or fuiry fable ? 

Or is it some historic page, 

Of kings and crowns unstable ? " 

The young boy gave an upv/ard glance— 
"It is 'The Death of Abel.'" 



The usher took sis hasty strides, 
As smit with sudden pain — 

Six hasty strides beyond the place, 
Then slowly back again ; 

And down he sat beside the lad. 
And talked with him of Cain ; 

And, long since then, of bloody men, 
"Whose deeds tradition saves; 

And lonely folk cut off unseen, 
And hid in sudden graves ; 

And horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, 
And murders done in caves ; 

And how the sprites of injured men 
Shriek upward from the sod ; 

Aye, how the ghostly hand will point 
To show the burial clod; 

And unknown facts of guilty acts 
Are seen in dreams from God! 



He told how murderers walk the earth 
Beneath the curse of Cain — 

With crimson clouds before their eyes, 
And flames about their brain ; 

For blood has left upon their souls 
Its everlasting stain ! 



"And well," quoth he, "I know, for 
truth. 

Their pangs must be extreme — 
"Woe, woe, unutterable woe — 

"Who spill life's sacred stream ! 
For why ? Meth ought, last night I wrought 

A murder, in a dream! 



i88 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. j 


" One that had never done me wrong— 


" And I took the dreary body up, 


A feeble man and old ; 


And cast it in a stream — 


I led him to a lonely field — 


The sluggish water, black as ink, 


The moon shone clear And. cold* 


The depth was so extreme : 


Now here, said I, this man shall die, 


My gentle boy, remember ! this 


And I will have his gold ! 


Is nothing but a dream ! 


"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick. 


"Down Avent the corse with a hollow 


And one with a heavy stone, 


plunge. 


One hurried gash with a hasty knife — 


And vanished in the pool ; 


And then the deed was done : 


Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, 


There was nothing lying at ray feet 


And washed my forehead cool, • 


But lifeless flesh and bone ! 


And sat among the urchins young, 




That evening in the school. 


" Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone. 

That could not do me ill ; 
And yet I feared him all the more, 

For lying there so still : 
There was a manhood in his look, 

That murder could not kill! 


"0 heaven! to think of their white souls, 

And mine so black and grim ! 
I could not share in childish prayer, 

iSTor join in evening hymn ; 
Like a devil of the pit I seemed, 

'Mid holy cherubim ! 


" And, lo ! the universal air 


"And peace Avent with them, one and all 


Seemed lit with ghastly flame ; — 


And each calm pillow spread ; 


Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes 


But guilt was my grim chamberlain, 


Were looking down in blame ; 


That lighted me to bed. 


I took the dead man by his hand, 


And drew my midnight curtains round 


And called upon his name ! 


With fingers bloody red ! 


" God ! it made me quake to see 


"All night I lay in agony, 


Such sense within the slain ! 


In anguish dark and deep ; 


But when I touched the lifeless clay. 


My fevered eyes I dared not close, 


The blood gushed out amain ! 


But stared aghast at sleep ; 


For every clot a burning spot 


For sin had rendered unto her 


Was scorchTng in my brain ! 


The keys of hell to keep ! 


" My head was like an ardent coal — 


"All night I lay in agony, 


My heart as solid ice ; 


From weary chime to chime ; 


My wretched, wretched soul, I knew. 


With one besetting horrid hint. 


AYas at the devil's price. 


That racked me all the time — 


A dozen times 1 groaned — the dead 


A mighty yearning, like the first 


Had never groaned but twice ! 


Fierce impulse unto crime — 


"And now, from forth the frowning sky, 


" One stern tyrannic thought, that made 


From the heaven's topmost height, 


All other thoughts its slave ! 


I heard a voice — the awful voice 


Stronger and stronger every pulse 


Of the bluod-avenging sprite : 


Did that temptation crave — 


' Thou guilty man ! talie up thy dead. 


Still urging me to go and see 


And hide it from my sight ! ' 


The dead man in his grave ! 



YOUNG AIRLY. 



4S? 



" Heavily I rose up, as soon 

As light was in the sky, 
And sought the black accursed pool 

AVith a wild misgiving eye; 
And I saw the dead in the river bed, 

For the faithless stream was dry. 

" Merrily rose the lark, and shook 

The dew-drop from its wing; 
But I never marked its morning flight — 

I never heard it sing ; 
For I was stooping once again 

Under the horrid thing. 

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 

I took him up and ran ; 
There was no time to dig a grave 

Before the day began — 
Tn a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, 

I hid the murdered man ! 

"And all that day I read in school. 
But my thought was other where ; 

As soon as the mid-day task Avas done. 
In secret I was there — 

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves. 
And still the corse was bare ! 



"Then down I cast me on my face. 

And first began to weep, 
For I knew my secret then was one 

That earth refused to keep — 
Or land or sea, though he should be 

Ten thousand fathoms deep. 

" So wills the fierce avenging sprite, 

Till blood for blood atones ! 
Aye, though he 's buried in a cave, 

And trodden down with stones, 
And years have rotted off his flesh — 

Tlie vrorld shall see his bones! 

'0 God! that horrid, horrid dream 

Besets me now awake ! 
Again — again, with dizzy brain. 

The human life I take; 
And my red right hand grows raging hot. 

Like Cranraer's at the stake. 
GG 



"And still no peace for the restless clay 

Will wave or mould allow ; 
The horrid thing pursues my soul — 

It stands before me now ! " 
The fearful boy looked up, and saw 

Huge drops upon his brow. 

That very night, Avhile gentle sleep 

The urchin's eyelids kissed, 
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn 

Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
And Eugene Aram walked between. 

With gyves upon his wrist. 

Thomas IIocd. 



YOUNG AIELY. 

IvEx ye aught of brave Lochiel ? 

Or ken ye aught of Airly ? 
They have belted on their bright broad swords, 

And off and awa' wi' Charlie. 
Xow bring me fire, my merry, merry men, 

And bring it red and yarely — 
At mirk midnight there flashed a light 

O'er the topmost towers of Airly. 

What lowe is yon, quo' the gude Lochiel, 

Which gleams so red and rarely? 
By the God of my kin, quo' young Ogilvie, 

It's my ain bonnie hame of Airly! 
Put up your sword, said the brave Lochiel, 

And calm your mood, quo' Charlie ; 
Ere morning glow we '11 rais? a lowe 

Far brighter than bonnie Airly. 

Oh, yon fair tower 's my native tower ! 

Nor will it soothe my mourning. 
Were London palace, tower, and town. 

As fast and brightly burning. 
It 's no my hame — my father's hame, 

That reddens my cheek sae sairlie — 
But my wife, and twa sweet babes I left 

To smoor in the smoke of Airly. 

Anox'smoos, 



4yo 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



A SXOW-STORM. 



SCENE IN A VEE5I0NT WINTER. 



'T IS a fearful niglit in the Avinter time, 

As cold as it ever can be ; 
The roax- of the blast is heard like the chime 

Of the waves on an angry sea. 
The moon is full ; but her silver light 
The storm dashes out with its wings to-night ; 
And over the sky from south to north 
Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth 

In the strength of a mighty glee. 



All day had the snow come down — all day 

As it never came down before ; 
And over the hills, at sun-set, lay 

Some two or three feet, or more ; 
The fence was lost, and the wall of stone ; 
The windows blocked and the well-curbs 

gone; 
Tlic haystack had grown to a mountain lift, 
And the wood-j^ile looked like a monster 
drift, 

As it lay by the farmer's door. 

The night sets in on a world of snow, 
"While the air grows sharp and chill, 

And the warning roar of a fearful blow 
Is heard on the distant hill ; 

And the norther, see ! on the mountain peak 

In his breath how the old trees Avrithe and 
shriek ! 

He shouts on the plain, ho-ho ! ho-ho ! 

He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow. 
And growls with a savage will. 



Such a night as this to be found abroad, 
In the drifts and the freezing air. 

Sits a shivering dog, in the field, by the road, 
"With the snow in his shaggy hair. 

He shuts his eyes to the wind and growls ; 

He lifts his head, and moans and howls; 

Then crouching low, from the cutting sleet. 

His nose is pressed on his quivering feet — 
Pray what does the dog do there ? 



A farmer came from the village plain — ■ 

But he lost the travelled way ; 
And for hours he trod with might and main 

A path for his horse and sleigh ; 
But colder still the cold winds blew. 
And deeper still the deep drifts grew. 
And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, 
At last in her struggles floundered down, 

Where a log in a hollow lay. 

In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, 

She plunged in the drifting snow. 
While her master urged, till his breath grew 
short. 
With a word and a gentle blow ; 
But the snow was deep, and the tugs were 

tight ; 
His hands were numb and had lost their 

might ; 
So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh. 
And strove to shelter himself till day, 
With his coat and the buffalo. 



He has given the last faint jerk of the rein, 

To rouse up his dying steed ; 
And the i)Oor dog howls to the blast in vain 

For help in his master's need. 
For a while he strives with a wistful cry 
To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, 
And wags his tail if the rude winds flap 
The skirt of the buffiilo over his lap. 

And whines when he takes no heed. 



The wind goes down and the storm is o'er— 

'T is the hour of midnight, past ; 
The old trees writhe and bend no more 

In the whirl of the rushing blast. 
The silent moon with her peaceful light 
Looks down on the hills with snow all white 
And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, 
The blasted pine and the gho&tly stump. 
Afar on the plain are cast. 

But cold and dead by the hidden log 
Are they who came from the town — 

The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, 
And his beautiful Morgan brown — ■ 



SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH. 



491 



111 the Avide snow-desert, far and grand, 
With his cap on his head and the reins in'liis 

liand — 
The dog with his nose on his master's feet. 
And tlie mare half seen throngh the crnsted 
sleet, 
Where she lay when she floundered down. 
Charles Gamage Eastman. 



THE HUNTER'S VISION. 

Urox a rock that, high and sheer. 
Rose from the mountain's breast, 

A weary hunter of the deer 
Had sat him down to rest. 

And bared to the soft summer air 

His hot red brow and sweaty hair. 

All dim in haze the mountains lay. 
With dimmer vales between ; 

And rivers glimmered on their way. 
By forests faintly seen ; 

While ever rose a murmuring sound, 

From brooks below and bees around. 

lie -listened, till he seemed to hear 

A strain, so soft and low 
That whether in the mind .or ear 

The listener scarce might know ; 
With such a tone, so sweet, so mild, 
The watching mother lulls her child. 

"Thou weary huntsman," thus it said, 
" Thou faint with toil and heat, 

The pleasant land of rest is spread 
Before thy very feet. 

And those whon; thou wouldst gladly see 

Are waiting there to welcome thee." 

He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky 

Amid the noontide haze, 
A shadowy region met his eye. 

And grew beneath his gaze, 
As if the vapors of the air 
Had gathered into shapes so fair. 



Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers 
Showed bright on rocky bank, 

And fountains welled beneath the bowers, 
Where deer and pheasant drank. 

He saw the glittering streams ; he heard 

The rustling bough and twittering bird. 

And friends, the dead, in boyhood dear, 
There lived and walked again ; 

And there was one who many a year 
Within her grave had lain, 

A fair young girl,, the hamlet's pride— 

His heart was breaking when she died. 

Bounding, ^s was her wont, she came 
Right to-#,rds his resting place. 

And stretched her hand and called his name, 
With that sweet smiling face. 

Forward with fixed and eager eyes. 

The hunter leaned in act to rise : 

Forward he leaned — and headlong down 
Plunged from that craggy wall ; 

He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown. 
An instant, in his fall — 

A frightful instant, and no more ; 

The dream and life at once were o'er. • 
William Cclles Bkyant. 



SOFTLY ^700 AWAY HER BREATH. 

Softly woo away her breath. 

Gentle death ! 
Let her leave thee with no strife. 

Tender, mournful, murmuring life! 
She hath seen her liappy day — 

She hath had her bud and blossom ; 
Now she pales and shrinks away, 

Earth, into thy gentle bosom ! 

She hath done her bidding here, 

Angels dear ! 
Bear her perfect soul above, 

Seraph of the skies — sweet love ! 
Good she was, and fair in youth; ^ 

And her mind was seen to soar. 
And her heart was Aved to truth : 

Take her, then, for evermore — 

For ever — evermore ! 

Bap.ky Cohnwall 



492 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW, 



THE MAY QUEEN. 



They call me cruel-hearted, hut I care not 

what they say, 
For I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to he queen o' the May. 



You must wake and call me early, call me 
early, mother dear ; 

To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the 
glad new-year — 

Of all the glad new-year, mother, the mad- 
dest, merriest day; 

For I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I 'm 
to be queen o' the May, 



There 's many a black, black *eye, they say, 

but none so bright as mine ; 
There 's Margaret and Mary, there 's Kate 

and Caroline ; 
But none so fiiir as little Alice in all the land, 

they say : 
So I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I 'm 

to be queen o' the May. 



i sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall 
never wake, 

If you do not call me loud when the day be- 
gins to break ; 

But I must gather knots of flowers and buds, 
and garlands gay ; 

For I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 
I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



As 1 came up the valley, whom think ye 

should I see, 
But Eobin leaning on the bridge beneath the 

hazel-tree ? 
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave 

him yesterday, — 
But I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



lie thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was 

all in white; 
And I ran by him without speaking, like a 

flash of liglit. 



They say he's dying all for love — bu'„ tha 

can never be ; 
They say his heart is breaking, mother — Avhat 

is that to me ? 
There's many a bolder lad '11 woo me any 

summer day ; 
And I 'm to he queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm' to be queen o' the May. 



Little Eflie shall go with me to-morrow to 

the green. 
And you 'II be there, too, mother, to see me 

made the queen ; 
For the shepherd lads On every side '11 come 

from far away ; 
And I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to he queen o' the May. 



The honeysuckle round the porch has woyen 

its wavy bowers. 
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint 

sweet cuckoo-flowers; 
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire 

in swamps and hollows gray ; 
And I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'nl to be queen o' the May, 



The night-winds come and go, mother, upon 

the meadow-grass, 
And the happy stars above them seem to 

brighten as they pass ; 
There wiU not be a drop of rain the whole o^ 

the livelong day ; * 
And I'm to he queen o' the ^lay, mother, I'n 

to be queen o' the May. 



All the valley, mother, '11 be fresh and green 

and still, 
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over 

all the hill. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 



498 



And the rivulet in the flowery dale '11 mer- 
rily glance and play, 

For I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 
I 'm to be queen o' the ^May. 



So you must wake and call me early, call me 

early, mother dear, 
To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the 

glad new-year : 
To-morrow '11 be of all the year the maddest, 

merriest day, 
For I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



NEW TEAR S EVE. 



If you 're waking, call me early, call me early, 

mother dear. 
For I Avould see the sun rise upon the glad 

new-year. 
It is the last new-year that I shall ever see — 
Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and 

think no more of me. 



To-night I saw the sun set — ^he set and left 

behind 
The good old year, the dear old time, and all 

my peace of mind ; 
And the new-year 's coming up, mother ; but 

I shall never see 
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon 

the tree. 



Last May we made a crown of flowers ; we 

had a merry day — 
Beneath tlie hawthorn on the green they 

made me queen of May ; 
And we danced about the May-pole and in 

the hazel copse, 
Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall 

white chimnej'-tops. 



There 's not a flower on all the hills — the frost 

is on the pane ; 
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come 

again. 
I wish the snow would melt and the sun come 

out on high — 
I long to see a flower so before the day I die. 



The building rook 'll caw from the windy tall 

elm-tree. 
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow 

lea, 
And the swallow '11 come back again with 

summer o'er the wave. 
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the 

mouldering grave. 



Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that 
grave of mine, 

In the early, early morning the summer sun '11 
shine, 

Before the red cock crows from the farm up- 
on the hill — ■ 

When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all 
the world is still. 



When the flowers come again, mother, be- 
neath the waning light 

You '11 never see me more in the long gray 
fields at night ; 

When from the dry dark wold the summer 
airs blow cool 

On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the 
bulrush in the pool. 



You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the 

hawthorn shade. 
And you '11 come sometimes and see me where 

I am lowly laid. 
I shall not forget you, mother ; I shall hear 

you when you pass, 
With your feet above my head in the long 

and pleasant grass. 



494 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 


IX. 

I liave been wild aud wayward, but you'll 


CONCLUSION. 


forgive me now ; 


I. 


You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my 
cheek and brow ; 


I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive 
I am ; 


Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your 

grief be wild ; 
You should not fret for me, mother — you 

have another child. 


And in the fields all round I hear the bleating 

of the lamb. 
How sadly, I remember, rose the morning ot 

the year I 




To die before the snowdrop came, and now 


X. 

If I can, I '11 come again, mother, from out 


the violet 's here. 


my resting-place ; 
Though you '11 not see me, mother, I shall 


II. 

Oh sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath 


look upon your face ; 
Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken 

what you say, 
And be often, often with you when you think 


the skies ; 
And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to m& 

that cannot rise ; 
And sweet is all the land about, and all the 


I 'm far away. 


flowers that blow ; 




And sweeter far is death than life, to me that 


XI. 

Good-night ! good-night ! when I have said 


long to go. 


good-night for evermore. 
And you see me carried out from the threshold 


III. 

It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave 


of the door, 


the blessed sun, 


Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave 


And now it seems as hard to stay ; and yet, 


be growing green — 


His will be done ! 


She '11 be a better child to you than ever I 


But still I think it can 't be long before I find 


have been. 


release ; 




And that good man, the clergyman, has told 


511. 

She '11 find my garden-tools upon the granary 
floor. 


me words of peace. 

IV. 


Let her take 'em — they are hers ; I shall never 


Oh blessings on his kindly voice, and on his 


garden more. 


silver hair ! 


But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the 


And blessings on his whole life long, until he 


rose-bush that I set 


meet me there ! 


About the parlor-window, and the box of 


Oh blessings on his kindly heart and on his 


mignonette. 

XIII. 

Good-night, sweet motlier ! Call me before 


silver head ! 
A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt be- 
side my bed. 


the day is born. 
All night I lie awake, but I Ml asleep at 
morn ; 


V. 

He showed me all the mercy, for he taught 
me all the sin ; 


But I Avould see the sun rise upon the glad 
new-year — 


ITow, though my lamp was lighted late, 
there 's One will let me in. 


So, if you 're waking, call me, call me early, 
mother dear. 


For would I now be well, mother, again, if 

that could be ; 
For my desire is but to pass to Ilim that died 




for me. 



1 

THE MAY QUEEN. 495 


vr. 


XI. 


I did not bear the dog howl, mother, or the 


So now I think my time is near ; I trust it is. 


death-watch beat — 


I know 


There came a sweeter token when the night 


The blessed music went that way my soul 


and morning meet ; 


will have to go. 


But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your 


And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to- 


hand in mine, 


day ; 


And EfRe on the other side, and I will tell 


But Effie, you must comfort her when I am 


the sign. 


past away. 


VII. 


XII. 


All in the wild March-morning I heard the 


And say to Eolnn a kind word, and tell him 


angels call — • 


not to fret ; 


It was when the moon was setting, and the 


There 's many worthier than I would make 


dark was over all ; 


him happy yet. 


The trees began to whisper, and the Avind be- 


If I had lived — I cannot tell — I might have 


gan to roll, 


been his wife ; 


And in the wild March-morning I heard them 


But all these things have ceased to be, with 


call my soul. 


my desire of life. 


VIII. 


XIII. 


For lying broad awake, I thought of you and 


Oh look ! the sun begins to rise ! the heavens 


Effie dear; 


are in a glow ; 


I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer 


He shines upon a hundred fields, and all ot 


here ; 


them I know. 


With all my strength I prayed for both — and 


And there I move no longer now, and there 


so I felt resigned. 


his light may shine — 


And up the valley came a swell of music on 


Wild flowers in the valley for other hands 


the wind. 


than mine. 


IX. 


XIV. 


I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in 


Oh sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere 


my bed ; 


this day is done 


And then did something speak to me — I know 


The voice that now is speaking may be be- 


not what was said ; 


yond the sun — 


For gi-eat delight and shuddering took hold 


For ever and for ever with those just souls 


of all my mind. 


and true — 


And up the valley came again the music on 


And what is life, that we should moan ? why 


the wind. 


make we such ado ? 


X. 

Bat you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not 


XV. 

For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home, 


for them— it 's mine ; " 


And there to wait a little while till you and 


And if it comes three times, I thought, I take 


Effie come — 


it for a sign. 


To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon 


And once again it came, and close beside the 


your breast — 


window-bars — 


And the wicked cease from troubling, and 


Then seemed to go right up to heaven and 


the weary are at rest. 


die among the stars. 


Alfeed Tenntsos. 



49G 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE 
DEATH OF HER FAWN. 

The -wanton troopers, riding by, 

Have sliot my fawn, and it will die. 

Ungentle men ! tbey cannot thrive 

WLo killed thee. Thou ne'er didst, alive, 

Them any harm ; alas ! nor could 

Thy death yet do them any good. 

I 'm sure I never wished them ill — 

Nor do I for all this, nor Avill ; 

But, if my simple prayers may yet 

Prevail with heaven to forget 

Thy murder, I wOl join my tears. 

Rather than fail. But, oh my fears ! 

It cannot die so. Heaven's king 

Keeps register of every thing; 

And nothing may we use in vain ; 

Even beasts must be with justice slain — 

Else men are made their deodands. 

Though they should Avasli their guilty hands 

In this warm life-blood, which doth part 

From thine and wound me to the heart. 

Yet could they not be clean — their stain 

Is dyed in such a purple grain ; 

There is not such another in 

The world to offer for their sin. 

Inconstant Sylvio ! when yet 
I had not found him counterfeit, 
One morning (I remember well), 
Tied in this silver chain and bell. 
Gave it to me ; nay, and I know 
What he said then — I 'm sure I do : 
Said he, "Look how your huntsman here 
Hath taught a fawn to hunt his dear ! " 
But Sylvio soon had me beguiled — 
This waxed tame, while he grew wild ; 
And, quite regardless of my smart, 
Left me his fawn, but took his heart. 

Thenceforth, I set myself to play 
My solitary time away. 
With this ; and, very well content, ■• 
Could so mine idle life have spent. 
For it was full of sport, and light 
Of foot and heart, and did invite 
Me to its game. It seemed to bless 
Itself in me ; how could I less 
Than love it ? Oh I cannot be 
Unkind t' a beast that loveth me. 



Had it lived long, I do not know 
Whether it, too, might have done so 
As Sylvio did — his gifts might be 
Perhaps as false, or more, than he. 
For I am sure, for aught that I 
Could in so short a time espy, 
Thy love was far more better than 
The love of false and cruel man. 

With sweetest milk, and sugar, first 
I it at mine own fingers nursed ; 
And as it grew, so every day 
It waxed more white and sweet than they. 
It had so sweet a breath ! and oft 
I blushed to see its foot more soft 
And white — shall I say than my hand ? 
Nay, any lady's of the land. 

It is a wondrous thing how fleet 
'Twas on those little silver feet! 
With what a pretty, skipping grace 
It oft would challenge me the race ! 
And when 't had left me far away, 
'T would stay, and run again, and stay ; 
For it was nimbler, much, than hinds, 
And trod as if on the four winds. 

I have a garden of my own — 
But so with roses overgrown, 
And lilies, that you Avould it guess 
To be a little wilderness ; 
And all the spring-time of the year 
It only loved to be there. 
Among the beds of lilies I 
Have sought it oft, where it should lie ; 
Yet could not, till itself would rise, 
Find it, although before mine eyes ; 
For in the flaxen lilies' shade 
It like a bank of lilies laid. 
Upon the roses it would feed, 
Until its lips ev'n seemed to bleed ; 
And then to me 'twould boldly trip, 
And print those roses on my lip. 
But all its chief delight was still 
On roses thus itself to fill ; 
And its pure virgin limbs to fold 
In whitest sheets of lilies cold. 
Had it lived long, it would have been 
Lilies without, roses within. 

Oh help ! oh help ! I see it faint, 
And die as calmly as a saint ! 
See how it weeps! the tears do come, 
Sad, slowly, dropping like a gum. 
So weeps the wounded balsam ; so 



LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. 



497 



The holy frankincense dotli flow ; 

Tlie brotherless Heliadcs 

Melt in such amber tears as tliese. 

I in a golden vial Avill 
Keep these two crystal tears ; and fill 
It, till it do o'erflow, with mine ; 
Then place it in Diana's shrine. 

Xow my sweet fawn is vanished to 
Whither the swans and turtles go ; 
In fair Elysium to endure, 
"With milk-white lambs, and ermins pure. 
Oh do not run too fast ! for I 
"Will but bespeak thy grave, and die. 

First my unhappy statue shall 
Be cut in marble ; and withal, 
Let it be weeping too ! But there 
• Th' engraver sure his art may spare. 
For I so truly thee bemoan 
That I shall weep though I be stone ; 
IJntil my tears, still drooping, wear 
My breast, themselves engraving there. 
There at my feet shalt thou be laid, 
Of purest alabaster made ; 
For I would have thine image be 
White as I can, though not as thee. 

Andrew Marvell. 



LAMENT OF THE -IRISH EMIGRANT. 

I 'ji sittin' on the stile, Mary, 

"Where we sat side by side 
On a bright May mornin' long ago, 

"When first you were my bride ; 
The corn was springin' fresh and green, 

And the lark sang loud and high ; 
And the red was on your lip, Mary, 

And the love-light in your eye. 

The place is little changed, Mary ; 

The day is bright as then ; 
The lark's loud song is in my ear. 

And the corn is green again ; 
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand. 

And your bi-eath, warm on my cheek ; 
And I still keep list'nin' for the words 

You never more Avill speak. 

'Tis but a step down yonder lane, 
And the little church stands near — 
67 



The church where we were wed, Mary; 

I see the spire from here. 
But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, 

And my step might break your rest — 
For I 've laid you, darling, down to sleep, 

"With your baby on your breast. 

I 'm very lonely now, Mary — 

For the poor make no new friends ; 
But, oh ! they love the better still 

The few our Father sends ! 
And you were all I had, Mar}^ — 

My blessin' and my pride : 
There 's nothing left to care for now. 

Since my poor Mary died. 

Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, 

That still kept hoping on, 
"When the trust in God had left my soul. 

And my arm's young strength was gone ; 
There was comfort ever on your lip, 

And the kind look on your brow — 
I bless you, Mary, for that same, 

Though you cannot hear me now. 

I thank you for the patient smile 

"When your heart was fit to break — 
"Whe-n the hunger pain Avas gnawin' there, 

And you hid it for my sake ; 
I bless you for the pleasant word, 

"When your heart was sad and sore — 
Oh ! I 'm thankful you are gone, Mary, 

"Where grief can't reach you more ! 

I 'm biddin' you a long farewell. 

My Mary — -kind and true ! 
But I '11 not forget you, darling, 

In the land I 'm goiu' to ; 
They say there 's bread and work for all, 

And the sun shines always there — 
But I '11 not forget old Ireland, • 

"Were it fifty times as fair ! 

And often in those grand old woods 

I '11 sit, and shut my eyes, 
And my heart will travel back again 

To the place where Mary lies ; 
And I '11 think I see the little stile 

"Where we sat side by side. 
And the springin' corn, and the bright May 
morn, 

"When first you were my bride. 

LiDY DUFFEKIW,. 



iys 


POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 








Alas! for the rarity 






THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 


Of Christian charity 
Under the sun ! 






" Drowned 1 Drowned I "—Hamlet. 


Oh I it was pitiful ! 






OxE more nnfi)rtunate, 


Near a whole city full. 






Weary of breath, 


Home she had none. 






Rashly importunate, 








Gone to her death ! 


Sisterly, brotherly. 
Fatherly, motherly 






Take her np tenderly, 


Feelings had changed — 






Lift her with care! 


Love, by harsh evidence, 






Fashioned so slenderly — 


Thrown from its eminence; 






Young, and so fair ! 


Even God's providence 
Seeming estranged. 






Look at her garments 








Clinging like, cerements. 


Where the lamps quiver 






Whilst tlie wave constantly 


So far in the river, 






Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her up instantly. 
Loving, not loathing ! 


With many a light 






From window and casement, 












From garret to basement, 








She stood, with amazement. 






Touch her not scornfully ! 


Houseless by night. 






Think of her mournfully, 


The bleak wind of March 






Gently and humanly — 








Not of the stains of her ; 


Made her tremble and shiver; 






. All that remains of her 


But not the dark arch. 






Now is pure womanly. 


Or the black flowing river; 














Mad from life's history. 






Make no deep scrutiny 


Glad to death's mystery, 






Into her mutinj-. 


Swift to be hurled — 






Rash and undutiful ; 


Any where, any where 






Past all dishonor. 


Out of the world ! 






Death has left on her 








Only the beautiful. 


In she plunged boldly — 
No matter how coldly 






Still, for all slips of hers — ■ 


The rough river ran — 






One of Eve's family — 


Over the brink of it! 






Wipe those poor lips of hers, 


Picture it — think of it ! 






Oozing so clammily. 


Dissolute man ! 
Lave in it, drink of it, 






Loop up her tresses 


Then, if you can ! 






Escaped from the comb — 








Her fair auburn tresses — 


Take her np tenderly — 






Whilst -wonderment guesses 


Lift her with care ! 






Where was her home ? 


Fashioned so slenderly — ■ 
Young, and so fair ! 






Who was her father? 








Who was her mother ? 


Ere her limbs, frigidly, 






Had she a sister ? 


Stiffen too rigidly, 






Had she a brother ? 


Decently, kindly, 






Or was there a dearer one 


Smooth and compose them ; 






Still, and a nearer one 


And her eyes, close them, 






Yet, than all other? 


Staring so blindly ! 





THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 499 


Dreadfully staring 




Through muddy impurity, 
As when with the daring 


THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 


Last look of despairing 


With fingers weary and worn, 


Fixed on futurity. 


With eyelids heavy and red. 




A woman sat, in unwomanly rags. 


Perisliing gloomily, 


Plying her needle and thread — 


Spurred by contumely. 


Stitch! stitch! stitch! 


Cold inhumanity, 


In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 


Burning insanity, 


And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 


Into her rest ! 


She sang the " Song of the Shirt ! " 


Cross her hands humbly. 
As if praying dnmblj'. 
Over her breast ! 


"Work! work! work! 

While the cock is crowing aloof! 
And work — work — work, 


Owning her ■rt'eaknoss, 
Her evil behavior. 
And leaving, with meekness. 
Her sins to her Saviour ! 

Thomas Hood. 


Till the stars shine through the roof I 
It 's oh ! to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 

If this is Christian work ! 



THE MOTHER'S LAST SOXG. 

Sleep!— The ghostly winds are blowing! 
No moon abroad — no star is glowing ; 
The river is deep, and tlie tide is flowing 
To the land where you and I are going! 

We are going afar, 

Beyond moon or star, 
To the land where the sinless angels are ! 

I lost my heart to your heartless sire, 
('T was melted away by his looks of fire) — 
Forgot my God, and my father's ire, 
All for the sake of a man's desire ; 
But now we '11 go 
AVhere the waters flow. 
And make us a bed where none shall 
know. 

The world is cruel — the world is untrue ; 
Our foes are many, our friends are few ; 
No work, no bread, however we sue ! 
What is there left for rac to do. 
But fly— fly 
From the cruel sky, 
And hide in the deepest dee])s — and die ! 
BARnv Cornwall. 



" Work — work — work 

Till the brain begins to swim ! 
Work — work — work 

Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
Seam, and gusset, and band. 

Band, and gusset, and seam — 
Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 

And sew them on in a dream ! 

" O men, with sisters dear ! 

O men, Avith mothers and wives ! 
It is not linen you 're wearing out, 

But human creatures' lives ! 
Stitch — stitch — stitch, 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt — 
Sewing at once, with a double thread. 

A shroud as well as a shirt! 

"But why do I talk of death— 

That phantom of grisly bone ? 
I hardly fear his terrible shape, 

It seems so like my own — 

It seems so like my own 

Because of the fasts I keep ; 
God ! that bread should be so dear, 

And flesh and blood so cheap ! 

" Work— v,-ork— work ! 

My labor never flags ; 
And what are its wages? A bed of straw, 

A crust of bread — and rags. 



aoo 



rOEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



That shattered roof— and this naked floor— 

A table — a broken chair — 
And a wall so blank iny shadow I thank 

For sometimes falling there ! 

" Work — work — work ! 

From weary chime to chime ! 
Work — work — work — 

As prisoners work for crime ! 
Band, and gusset, and seam, 
• Seam, and gusset, and band — 
Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed, 

As well as the weary hand. 

" Work — work — work 

In the dull December light ! 
And work — work — work, 

When the weather is warm and bright ! — 
While underneath the eaves 

The brooding swallows cling. 
As if to show me their sunny backs, 

And twit me with the Spring. 

" Oh ! but to breathe the breath 

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet — 
With the sky above my head, 

And the grass beneath my feet ! 
For only one short hour 

To feel as I used to feel. 
Before I knew the woes of want 

And the walk that costs a meal ! 

" Oh ! but for one short boui* — 

A respite however brief! 
No blessed leisure for love or hope, 

But only time for grief! 
A little weeping would ease my heart ; 

But in their briny bed 
My tears must stop, for every drop 

Hinders needle and thread ! " 

With fingers weary and worn. 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A. woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 
And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch — 
Would that its tone could reach the rich I — 

She sang this " Song of the Shirt ! '■ 

TUOJIAS UOOD. 



SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. 

Into the silent land ! 
Ah! who sliall lead us thither? 
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly galhci , 
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand; 
Who leads us with a gentle hand 
Thither, oli, thither ! 

Into the silent land ? 

Into the silent land ! 
To you, ye boundless regions 
Of all perfection ! Tender morning-visions 
Of beauteous souls ! The future's pledge and 

band I 
Who in life's battle firm doth stand 
Shall bear hope's tender blossoms 

Into the silent land ! 

O land! land! 
For all the broken-hearted 
The mildest herald by our fate allotted 
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand 
To lead us with a gentle hand 
Into the land of the great departed — 
Into the silent land ! 

JoiiANN Gattdenz YON Saus. (Gcrman.) 
Translation of II. "W. Longfellq-sv. 



THE PAUPER'S DEATHBED. 

Tread softly ! bow the head — 
In reverent silence bow ! 

No passing bell doth toll ; 

Yet an immortal soul 
Is passing now. 

Stranger, however great. 

With lowly reverence bow ! 
There 's one in that poor shed — 
One by that paltry bed — 
Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 

Lo! Death doth keep his state! 
Enter ! — no crowds attend — 
Enter ! — no guards defend 
This palace gate. 



THE LAST 


JOURNEY. 60] 


That pavement damp and cold 


Hearken! — he speaketh yet!— 


No smiling courtiers tread ; 


"0 friend! wilt thou forget 


One silent woman stands, 


(Friend — more than brother!) 


Lifting with meagre hands 


How hand in hand we 've gone. 


A dying head. 


Heart with heart linked in one- 




All to each other ? 


No mingling voices sound — 




An infant wail alone ; 


" friend! I go from thee — 


A sob suppressed — again 


Where the worm feasteth free. 


That short deep gasp — and then 


Darkly to dwell ; 


The parting groan ! 


Giv'st thou no parting kiss ? 




Friend ! is it come to this ? 


Oh ! change — oh ! wondrous change ! 


friend, farewell ! " 


Burst are the prison bars! 




This moment there, so low, 




So agonized — and now 


Uplift your load again ! 


Beyond the stars ! 


Take up the mourning sti'ain — 




Pour the deep wail ! 


Oil ! change — stupendous change ! 


Lo ! the expected one 


There lies the soulless clod ! 


To his place passeth on — 


The sun eternal breaks ; 


Grave ! bid him hail ! 


The new immortal wakes — 




Wakes with his God. 


Yet, yet — ah ! slowly move! 


Caroline Bowles Southet. 


Bear not tlie form we love 




Fast from our sight — 




Let the air breathe on him, 
And the sun beam on him 






Last looks of light. 


THE LAST JOURNEY. 


I 


Slowly, with measured tread. 


Here dwells his mortal foe ; 


Onward we bear the dead 


Lay the departed low, i 


To his lone home ; 


Even at his gate ! \ 


Short grows the homeward road — 


Will the dead speak again — 


On with your mortal load! — 


Utt'ring proud boasts, and vain 


grave ! we come. 


Last words of hate ? i 




Yet, yet — ah ! hasten not 


Lo ! the cold lips unclose — 


Past each remembered spot 


List ! list ! what sounds are those, 


Where he hath been — 


Plaintive and low ? 


Where late he walked in glee, 


" thou, mine enemy ! 


These from henceforth to be 


Come forth and look on me, 


Never more seen! 


Ere hence I go. 


Rest ye — set down the bier I 


" Curse not thy foemen now — 


One he loved dwelleth here ; 


Mark ! on his pallid brow 


Let the dead lie 


Whose seal is set ! 


A moment that door beside, 


Pardoning I pass thy way ; 


Wont to fly open wide 


Then wage not war with clay — 


Ere he drew nigh, 
i 


Pardon — forget ! " 



:,02 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SOKKOW. 



NoAV all bis labor 's done ! 
Now, now tbe goal is won ! 

O grave, we come ! 
Seal up tbe precious dust — 
Land of tbe good and just, 

Take tbe soul borne ! 

Caeoline Bowles Southet. 



THE PAUPEE'S DRIVE. 

There 's a grim oue-borse bearse in a jolly 

round trot — 
To tbe cburcb-yard a pauper is going, I wot : 
Tbe road it is rough, and tbe bearse bas no 

springs ; 
And bark to tbe dirge wbicb tbe mad driver 
sings : 
Rattle his loncs over tlie stones ! 
He 's only a favper^ icliom nolody oicns ! 

Ob, wbereare tbe mourners? Alas! tbere are 

none — 
lie bas left not a gap in tbe world, now be 's 

gone — 
Not a tear in tbe eye of cbild, woman, or 

man ; 
To the grave with bis carcass as fast as you 

can: 
Battle Jiis lones over tJte stones! 
He's only ai^cmper^ whom nolody owns! 

"What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, 

and din ! 
Tbe whip bow it cracks! and the wliecls, bow 

they spin ! 
How tbe dirt, right and left, o'er tbe hedges 

is burled ! — 
The pauper at lengtli makes a noise in tbe 

world ! 
Rattle his hones over the stones ! 
Heh only a pauper^ ichom nolody owns! 

Poor pauper defunct ! be bas made some ap- 
proach 

To gentility, now that he's stretched in a 
coach ! 



He 's taking a drive in bis carriage at last ; 
But it will not be long, if be goes on so fast : 

Rattle his lones over the stones ! 

IIe''s only a patt^^er^ whom nolody oicns! 

You bumpkins! who stare at your brother 

conveyed — 
Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid ! 
And be joyful to thin]';, when by death you 're 

laid low. 
You 've a chance to tbe grave like a gemman 
to go ! 
Rattle Ms lones over the stones ! 
He's only afauper^ ichom nolody oions! 

But a truce to this strain ; for my soul it is 

sad. 
To think that a heart in humanity clad 
Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate 

end. 
And depart from tbe light witliout leaving a 

friend ! 

Bear soft his lones over the stones! 

Though a 2MV2)er, heh one ichom his MaTcei 

■yet oicns ! 

Thomas No"KL. 



THE DEATH-BED. 

We watched her breathing thro' the night, 

Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seemed to speak, 

So sloAvly moved about, 
As we bad lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 

Our fears our hopes belied — 
We thought her dying wlien she slept, 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came, dim and sad, 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 

Another morn than ours. 

TUOMAS IIOOI). 



HESTER. 503 


A DEATH-BED. ' 


HESTER. 


IIeu suffering ended with the dr.y; 


WiiEX maidens such as Hester die. 


Yet lived she at its close, 


Their place yc may not well supply. 


And breathed the long, long night a^yay, 


Though ye among a thousand try. 


In statue-like repose. 


With vain endeavor. 


But \yhen the sun, in all his state, 




Ilhuned the eastern skies, 


A month or more hath she been dead, 


Yet cannot I by force be led 


She i)assed through glory's morning-gate. 


To think upon the wormy bed 


And walked in Paradise ! 






And her, together. 


James ALDracn. 






A springy motion in her gait. 




A rising step, did indicate 




Of pride and joy no common rate, 


PEACE ! WHAT DO TEAKS. AVAIL ? 


That flushed her spirit; 


Peace ! what can tears avail ? 




She lies all dumb and jiale, 


I know not by what name beside 


And from her eye 


I shall it call : — if 't was not pride, 


The spirit of lovely life is fivding — 


It was a joy to that allied, 


And she must die ! 


She did inherit. 


Why looks the lover wroth — the friend up- 




braiding ? 


Her parents held the Quaker rule, 


Eeply, reply ! 


Which doth the human feeling cool; 




But she was trained in nature's school — 


Hath she not dwelt too long 


Nature had blessed her. 


'Midst pain, and grief, and wrong? 




Then why not die ? 




Why suffer again her doom of sorroAV, 


A waking eye, a prying mind. 


And hopeless lie ? 


A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; 


Why nurse the trembling dream until to-mor- 


A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind — 


row ? 


Ye could not Hester. 


Eeply. reply ! 






My sprightly neighbor, gone before 


Deatli ! Take her to thine arms, 


To that unknown and silent shore ! 


In all her stainless charms ! 


Shall we not meet, as heretofore. 


And with her t'y 


Some summer morning. 


To heavenly haunts, where, clad in bright- 




ness, 




The angels lie ! 


When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 


Wilt bear her there, death! in all her 


Hath struck a bliss upon the day — 


whiteness? 


A bliss that would not go away — 


Rtjily, re])ly ! 


A sweet fore-warning ? 


Barry Corn-wall. 


Charles Lamb 




i 
I 

i 



"n 



504 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



LYCIDAS. 

Yet once more, ye laurels, and once more 

Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 

I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude. 

And with forced fingers rude 

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing 

year. 
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, 
Compels me to disturb your season due ; 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime. 
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew 
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme, 
lie must not float upon his watery bier 
Unwept, and v/elter to the parching wind. 
Without the meed of some melodious tear. 

Begin then, sisters of the sacred well. 
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth 

spring, 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse ; 
So may some gentle muse 
With lucky words favor my destined urn, 
And as he passes turn. 
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ; 
For we were nursed upon the self- same hill. 
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and 

rill. 
Together both, ere the high lawns appear- 
ed 
Under tlie opening eyelids of the morn. 
We drove a-field, and both together heard 
Wliat time the gray -fly winds her sultry horn, 
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of 

niglit. 
Oft tiU tlie star that rose at evening bright 
Toward heaven's descent had sloped his 

westering wheel. 
Meanwhile the I'ural ditties were not mute, 
Tempered to the oaten flute ; 
Rough satyrs danced,-and fauns Avith cloven 

heel 
From tlie glad song would not be absent long, 
And old Damajtas loved to hear our song. 
But oh, the heavy change, now thou art 

gone — 
I^ow thou art gone, and never must retui'n ! 
Thee, shepherd, thee the Avoods, and desert 

caves, 



With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'er- 

grown, 
And all their echoes, mourn ; 
The willows, and the hazel copses green, 
Shall now no more be seen. 
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 
As killing as the canker to the rose. 
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that 

graze. 
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe 

Avear, 
When first the Avhite-thorn hloAvs ; 
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 
Where were ye, nymphs, Avhen the re- 
morseless deep 
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 
For neithci- were ye playing on the steep, 
Wliere your old bards, the fiimous druids, 

lie, 
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
^lor yet where Deva spreads her Avizard 

stream — 
Ay me ! I fondly dream. 
Had ye been there ; for AA'hat could that liave 

done ? 
What could the muse herself that Orpheus 

bore. 
The muse herself for her enchanting son, 
'\Vhom universal nature did lament, 
When, by the rout that made the hideous 

roar. 
His gory visage doAvn the stream Avas sent, 
DoAvn the swift Hehrus to the Lesbian shore? 

Alas ! Avhat boots it Avith incessant care 
To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade. 
And strictly meditate the thankless muse ? 
Were it not better done, as others use, 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 
Or Avith the tangles of Necera's hair ? 
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth 

raise 
(That last infirmity of noble minds) 
To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
But the fair guerdon Avhen we hope to find, 
And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 
Comes the blind fury with the abhorred 

shears. 
And slits the thin-spun life. But not the 

praise, 
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling 
ears : 



LYCIDAS. 



503 



Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
Nor in the glistering foil 
Set off to tlie "world, nor in broad rumor lies ; 
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; 
As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed. 
O fountain Arethuse, and thou honored 

flood, 
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal 

reeds, ' 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood ; 
But now my oat proceeds. 
And listens to the herald of the sea 
That came in Neptune's plea ; 
He asked the waves, and asked the felon 

winds. 
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle 

swain ? 
And questioned every gust of rugged winds 
That blows from oft' each beaked promontory ; 
They knew not of his story ; 
And sage Hippotades their answer brings. 
That not a blast w^as from his dungeon 

strayed ; 
The air was calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. 
It w^as that fatal and perfidious bark. 
Built in th' eclipse, and rigged Avith curses 

■ dark, 
Thar, sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 
Next Camus, reverend sire, Avent footing 

slow. 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge. 
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge, 
Like to that sanguine flower, inscribed with 

woe. 
Ah ! Avho hath reft (quoth he) my dearest 

pledge ? 
Last came, and last did go. 
The pilot of the Galilean Lake ; 
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain); 
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : 
How well could I have spared for thee, young 

swain, 
Enow of sucii as for their bellies' sake 
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ? 
Of other care they little reckoning make. 
Than how to scramble at tlie shearers' feast. 
And shove awav the worthy bidden guest; 
68 



Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know 
how to hold 

A sheep-hook, or have learned auglit else the 
least 

That to the fiiithful herdsman's art belongs ! 

What recks it them ? wTiat need they ? they 
are sped ; 

And when they list, their lean and flashy 
songs 

Grate on their scrannel pipes of Avretched 
straw ; 

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed. 

But, swollen wuth wind and the rank mist 
they draw. 

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; 

Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 

Daily devours apace, and nothing said ; 

But that two-handed engine at the door, 

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no 
more. 
Eeturn, Alpheus, the dread voice is past, 

That shrunk thy streams ; return Sicilian 
muse. 

And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 

Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues. 

Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 

Of shades, and Avanton winds, and gushing 
brooks. 

On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely 
looks. 

Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes, 

That on the green turf suck the honied show- 
ers, 

And purple all the ground with vernal flow- 
ers. 

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. 

The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 

The white pink, and the pansy freaked Avith 
jet, 

The glowing violet. 

The musk-rose, and the Avell-attired Avood- 
bine. 

With coAvslips Avan tliat hang the pensive 
head, 

And CA'ery floAver that sad embroidery wears; 

Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 

And daftbdillies fill their cups Avith tears. 

To strew the laureat hearse w'here Lycid lies. 

For so to interpose a little ease, 

Let our frail thoughts dally Avith false sur- 
mise. 



BOG 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Ay nie! whilst tliee tho shores and sounding 

seas 
Wash for away where'er tliy bones are hurled, 
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide 
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world; 
Or whether thou to our moist vows denied, 
Sleep'st by the foble of Bellerus old, 
Where the great vision of the guarded mount 
Looks towards Famancos and Bayona's hold ; 
Look homeward angel now, and melt Vv-ith 

ruth! 
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth ! 
Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no 
more ! 
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, 
Sunk though he be beneath tbe watery floor. 
So sinks the day-star in the oeean bed, 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled 

ore 
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky; 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, 
Through the dear might of Ilim that walked 

the waves. 
Whore, other groves and other streams along, 
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 
AndJiears the unexpressive nuptial song, 
In tlie blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
There entertain bim all the saints above, 
In solemn troops and sweet societies. 
That sing, and singing in their glory move, 
And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. 
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore. 
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
To all that wander in that perilous flood. 
Thus sang the uncouth svv^ain to th' oaks 
and rills, 
While the still morn went out with sandals 

gray ; 
lie touched the tender stops of various quills. 
With eager thought wai'bling his Doric lay. 
And now the sun had stretched out all the 

hills. 
And now was dropt into the western bay ; 
At last he rose, and twitched liis mantle blue : 
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. 

Jonx Milton. 



m REMEMBRxiNCE OF THE HON. 
EDWARD ERNEST YILLIERS. 



A GRACE though melancholy, manly too, 
Moulded his being; pensive, grave, serene, 
O'er his habitual bearing and his mien 
Unceasing pain, by patience tempered, threw 
A shade of sweet austerity. But seen 
In happier hours and by the friendly few, 
That curtain of the spirit was withdrawn, 
And fancy light and playful as a fawn. 
And reason imped with inquisition keen. 
Knowledge long sought with ardor ever new, 
And wit love-kindled, showed in colors true 
What genial joys with sufferings can consist. 
Then did all sternness melt as melts a mist 
Touched by the brightness of the golden 

dawn, 
Aerial heights disclosing, valleys green. 
And sunlights thrown the woodland tufts be- 
tween. 
And flowers and spangles of the dewy lawn. 



And even the stranger, though he saw not 

these, 
Saw what would not be willingly passed by. 
In his deportment, even when cold and shy, 
Was seen a clear collectedness and ease, 
A simple grace and gentle dignity. 
That failed not at the first accost to please ; 
And as reserve relented by degrees, 
So winning was his aspect and address, 
His smile so rich in sad felicities, 
Accordant to a voice which charmed no less, 
That who but saw him once remembered 

long, 
And some in whom such images are strong 
Have hoarded the impression in their heart 
Fancy's fond dreams and memory's joys 

among, 
Like some loved relic of romantic song. 
Or cherished masterpiece of ancient art. 



His life was private ; safely led, aloof 
From the loud world, — which yet he under^ 
stood 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 



507 



Largely and wisely, as no worldling could. 
For lie by privilege of his nature proof 
Against false glitter, from beneath the roof 
Of privacy, as from a cave, surveyed 
With steadfast eye its flickering light and 

shade. 
And gently judged for evil and for good. 
But whilst he mixed not for his own behoof 
In public strife, his spirit glowed with zeal. 
Not shorn of action, for the public weal, — 
For truth and justice as its warp and woof. 
For freedom as its signature and seal. 
His life thus sacred from the world, discharged 
From vain ambition and inordinate care. 
In virtue exercised, by reverence rare 
Lifted, and by humility enlarged. 
Became a temple and a place of prayer. 
In latter years he walked not singly there ; 
For one was with him, ready at all hours 
Ills griefs, his joys, his inmost thoughts to 

share, 
Who buoyantly his burthens helped to bear, 
And decked jiis altars daily with fresh flowers. 



But farther may we pass not; for the ground 
Is holier than the muse herself may tread ; 
iSTor would I it should echo to a sound 
Less solemn than the service for the dead. 
Mine is inferior matter, — my own loss, — 
The loss of dear delights for ever fled, 
Of reason's converse by affection fed, 
Of wisdom, counsel, solace, that across 
Life's dreariest tracts a tender radiance shed. 
Friend of my youth ! though younger yet my 

guide. 
How much by thy unerring insight clear 
I shaped my way of life for many a year, 
What thoughtful friendship on thy death-bed 

died ! 
Friend of my youth ! whilst thou wast by my 

side 
Autumnal days still breathed a vernal breath; 
How like a charm thy life to me supplied 
All waste and injury of time and tide. 
How like a disenchantment was thy death! 

IIeney Taylor. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW 
HENDERSON. 

Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody 1 
The muckle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his black sraiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides. 
And like stockfish come o'er his studdio 

AVi' thy auld sides ! 

He 's gane ! he 's gane ! he 's frae us torn, 
The ae best fellow e'er was boi'n! 
Thee, Matthew, nature's sel' shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exiled. 

Ye hiUs, near neebors o' the starns. 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
Ye clitfs, the haunts of sailing yearns. 

Where echo slumbers! 
Come join, ye nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers ! 

Moui-n, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens ! . 
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' todlin' din. 
Or foaining Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae linn to linn. 

Mourn, little haiebells owre the lea; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie. 

In scented bowers ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flowers! 

At dawn, when every grassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at his head, 

At even, when beans their fragrance shed 

I' th' rustling gale, 
Ye maukins, whiddin' through the glade. 

Come, join my wail ! 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling through a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He's gane for ever! 



508 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals ; 
Ye fislier herons, watching eels; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair for his sake ! 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks, at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay ! 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore. 
Tell thae far worlds wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye howlets, frae your ivy bower, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tower. 
What time the moon, wi' silent glower. 

Sets up her horn. 
Wail through the weary midnight hour 

Till waukrife morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard ray cantie strains ; 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ; 
And frae my een the drapping raius 

Maun ever flow ! 

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kcp a tear ; 
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up his head. 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that 's dead ! 

Then autumn, wi' thy yellow hair. 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, winter, hurling through the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we 've lost! 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright. 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's taen his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever? 
And hast thou crossed that unknown river. 

Life's di'eary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another. 

The world around ? 



Go to your sculptured tombs, ye great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I '11 wait 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 

liOBERT BnRNS. 



A FUNERAL HYMN. 

Ye midniglit shades, o'er nature spread ! 

Dumb silence of the dreary hour ! 
In honor of th' approaching dead. 
Around your awful terrors pour. 

Yes, pour around. 

On this pale ground. 
Through all this deep surrounding gloom, 

The sober thought, 

The tear untaught. 
Those mectcst mourners at a tomb. 

Lo ! as the surpliced train draw'near 

To this last mansion of mankind, 
The slow sad bell, the sable bier, 
In holy musings wrap the mind ! 

And while their beam, 

With trembling stream, 
Attending tapers faintly dart, 

Each mouldering bone, 

Each sculptured stone, 
Strikes mute instruction to the heart I 

Now, let the sacred organ blow. 
With solemn pause, and sounding slow ; 
Now, let the voice due measure keep, 
In strains that sigh, and words that weep ; 
Till all the vocal current blended roll, 
Not to depress, but lift the soaring soul — 

To lift it to the Maker's praise, 

Who first informed our frame with breath 
And, after some few stormy days. 
Now, gracious, gives us o'er to death. 

No king of fears 

In him appears. 
Who shuts the scene of human woes ; 

Beneath his shade 

Securely laid, 
The dead alone find true repose. 



OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 



509 



Then, wliile we mingle dust with dust, 

To One, supremely good and wise, 
Raise hallelujahs ! God is just, 

And man most happy when he dies! 

Ilis winter past. 

Fair spring at last 
Receives him on lier flowery shore ; 

Where pleasure's rose 

Immortal hlows, 
And sin and sorrow are no more! 

David Mallett. 



GANE WERE BUT THE WINTER 
CAULD. 

Gaxe were but the winter cauld, 
And gane were but the snaw, 
I could sleep in the wild woods, 

Where primroses blaw. 

Cauld 's the suaw at my head, 

And cauld at my feet, 
And tho finger o' death 's at my een, 

Closing them to sleep. 

Let nane tell my father, 

Or my mither sae dear ; 
I '11 meet them baith in heaven 

At the spring o' the year. 

Allan CuxNiNGnAM. 



Will this unteach us to complain ? 

Or make one mourner weep the less ? 
And thou — who teU'st me to forget, 
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 

LOKD BrKON. 



OH ! SXATOHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S 
BLOOM. 

On! snatched away in beauty's bloom, 
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ; 
But on thy turf shall roses rear 
Their leaves, the earliest of the year ; 
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom. 

And oft by you blue gushing stream 
Shall sorrow lean her drooping head, 

And feed deep thought with many a dream. 
And lingering pause and lightly tread — 
Fond wretch ! as if her step disturbed the 
dead. 

Away ! we know that tears are vain, 
That death nor heeds nor hears distress: 



CORONACH. 

Hk is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest. 
Like a summer-dried fountain. 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font re-appearing 

From the rain-drops shall borrow ; 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 
The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary. 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing, 

Waft the leaves that are searest, 
But our flower was in flushing. 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the correi. 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain. 

Like the foam on the river. 
Like the bubble on the fountain. 

Thou art gone, and for ever. 

Sir Walter Scott, 



OH ! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 

On ! breathe not his name ! let it sleep in the 

shade, 
Whei'c cold and unhonored his relics are laid ; 
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed," 
As the night dew that falls on the grave o'er 

his head. 

But the night dew tliat fulls, though iu silence 

it weeps. 
Shall brighten with vcrdui-e the grave where 

he sleeps ; 
And the tear that we shed, though in secret 

it rolls, 
Shall long keep his meraorj' green in our souls. 
Thomas Mooee, 



510 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



A DIRGE. 



Now is done tliy long clay's work ; 
Fold thy palms across thy breast- 
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. 

Let them rave. 
Shadows of the silver birk 
Sweep the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Thee nor carketh care nor slander ; 
Nothing but the small cold worm 
Fretteth thine enshrouded form. 

Let them rave. 
Light and shadow ever wander 
O'er the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 

III. 

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ; 
Chanteth not the brooding bee 
Sweeter tones than calumny ? 

Let them rave. 
Thou wilt never raise thine head 
From the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Crocodiles wept tears for thee; 

The woodbine and eglatere 

Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. 

Let them rave. 
Rain makes music in the tree 
O'er the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Round thee blow, self-pleached deep 
Bramble roses, faint and pale, 
And long purples of the dale. 

Let them rave. 
These in every shower creep 
Tlirough the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



The gold-eyed kingcups fine. 
The frail bluebell peereth over 
Rare broid'ry of the purple clover. 

Let them rave. 
Kings have no such couch as thine, 
As the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Wild words wander here and there; 
God's great gift of speech abused 
Makes thy memory confused — 

But let them rave. 
The balm-cricket carols clear 
In the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 

Alfred Tenntson. 



THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN. 

Fear no more the heat o' the sun. 
Nor the furious winter's rages ; 

Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : 

Golden lads and girls all must, 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown o' the great — 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; 

Care no more to clothe and eat ; 
To thee the reed is as the oak. 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; 

Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
Thou -hast finished joy and moan; 

All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

No exorciser harm thee ! 
Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
Nothing ill come near thee ! 

Quiet consummation have ; 

And renowned be thy grave ! 

SlIAKESrEARB, 



DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 



511 



DIRGE OF JEPIITHAirS DAUGHTER. 

SUNG BY THE YIEGIXS. 

O Tilou, the wonder of all dayes! 
O paragon, and pearl of praise ! 
O virgin-martyr, ever blest 

Above the rest 
Of all the maiden traine ! We come, 
And bring fresh strewings to thy tombe. 

Thus, thus, and thus we compasse round 
Thy harmlesse and unhaunted ground ; 
And as we sing thy dirge, we will 

The daffodill, 
And other flowers, lay upon 
The altar of our love, thy stone. 

Thou, wonder of all maids, rest here — 
Of daughters all, the deerest deere ; 
The eye of virgins ; nay, the queen 

Of this smooth green, 
And all sweet meades from whence we get 
The primrose and the violet. 

Too soone, too deere, did Jephthah buy, 

By thy sad losse, our liberty ; 

His was the bond and cov'nant, yet 

Thou paid'st the debt ; 
Lamented maid ! he won the day. 
But for the conquest thou didst pay. 

Thy father brought with him along 
The olive branch, and victor's song ; 
He slew the Ammonites we know — 

But to thy woe ; 
And in the purchase of our peace 
The cure was worse than the disease. 

For which obedient zeale of thiile 
"We otFer here, before thy shi-ine, 
Our sighs for storax, teares for wine ; 

And, to make fine 
And fresh thy herse-cloth, we will here 
Four times bestrew thee every yeere. 

Receive, for this thy praise, our tears ; 
Receive this oflering of our haires ; 
Receive these christall vials, filled 
With tears distilled 



From teeming eyes ; to these we bring. 
Each maid, her silver filleting, 

To guild thy tombe ; besides, these caules. 
These laces, ribbands, and these faules — 
These veiles, Avherewith we use to hide 

The bash full bride, 
TV hen we conduct her to her groome ; 
All, all we lay upon thy tombe. 

No more, no more, since thou art dead. 
Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed ; 
No more, at yeerly festivalls, 

We cowslip balls. 
Or chaines of columbines, shall make 
For this or that occasion's sake. 

No, no ! our maiden pleasures be 
Wrapt in the winding-sheet with thee ; 
'T is we are dead, thougli not i' th' grave ; 

Or if we have 
One seed of life left, 'tis to keep 
A Lent for thee, to fast and weep. 

Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, 
And make this place all paradise ; 
May sweets grow here, and smoke from 
hence 

Fat frankincense ; 
Let balme and cassia send their scent 
From out thy maiden monument. 

May no wolfe howle, or screech-owle stir 

A wing about thy sepulchre ; 

No boysterous winds or storms come hither. 

To starve or wither 
Thy soft sweet earth ; but, like a spring. 
Love keep it ever flourishing. 

May all slue maids, at wonted hours, 
Come forth to strew thy tombe with flowers ; 
May virgins, when they come to mourn, 

Male incense burn 
Upon thine altar ; then return, 
And leave thee sleeping in thy urn. 

ItOBEET IIeEKICK, 



512 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



DIEGE. 

" Oh dig a grave, and dig it deep, 
Where 1 and my true-love may sleep ! " 
We HI dig a grave^ and dig it deep^ 
Where tliou mid thy true lotc shall sleej) ! 

''And let it be five fathom low, 
"Where winter winds may never blow ! " 
And it shall he five fathoms low, 
Where winter winds shall never hloio ! 

"And let it be on yonder hill, 
Where grows the mountain daftbdil ! '" 
And it shall le on yonder hill, 
Where grows the mountain daffodil! 

" And plant it round with holy briers. 

To fright away the fairy fires ! " 

We HI plant it round with holy hriers, 
To fright away the fairy fires ! 

"And set it round with celandine, 
And nodding heads of columbine ! " 
We HI set it round with celandine, 
And nodding heads of columline ! 

"And let the ruddock build his nest 
Just above my true-love's breast ! " — 
The ruddoclc he shall build Jiis nest 
Just aiove thy true-love''s breast / — 

"And warble his sweet wintry song 
O'er our dwelling all day long ! " 
A7id' he shall warble his sweet song 
O^er your dwelling all day long. 

"Now, tender friends, my garments take, 
And lay me out for Jesus' sake ! " 
And we will noio thy garments talce. 
And lay thee out for Jesus'' saJce ! 

"And lay me by my true-love's side, 
That I may be a faithful bride ! " 

WeHl lay thee by thy ti'ue-lov6''8 side, 
That thou may''st be a faithful bride! 

" When I am dead, and buried be. 
Tray to God in heaven for me ! " 
N'oio tJiozi art dead, we'll bury thee. 
And pray to God in heaven for thee! 
Benedicite ! 

"William Stanley Eoscoe. 



DIRGE IN CYMBELINE, 

SDXG BY GUIDERUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER 
FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. 

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring 
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom. 

And rifle all the breathing spring. 

No wailing ghost shall dare appear, 
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; 

Bat shepherd lads assemble here. 
And melting virgins own their love. 

No withered witch shall here be seen- - 
No goblins lead tlieir nightly crew ; 

The female fays shall haunt the green. 
And dress thy grave with pearly dew. 

Tlie redbreast oft, at evening hours, 
Shall kindly lend his little aid. 

With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, 
To deck the ground where thou art laid 

When howling winds and beating rain 
In tempests shake the sylvan cell. 

Or 'midst the chase, on every plain. 
The tender thought on thee shall dwell. 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore, 
For thee the tear be duly shed ; 

Beloved till life can charm no more. 
And mourned till pity's self be dead. 

William Collins. 



DIEGE. 



If thou wilt ease thine heart 
Of love, and all its smart — 

Tlien sleep, dear, sleep ! 
And not a sorrow 

ITang any tear on your eyelashes ; 

Lie still and deep. 
Sad soul, until the sea-wave w-ashes 
The rim o' the sun to-morrow, 
In eastern sky. 



DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL. 



513 



But wilt thou cure tbiue heart 
Of love, and all its smart — 

Then die, dear, die! 
'T is dcejjer, sweeter, 

Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming 

With folded eye ; 
And then alone, amid the beaming 
Of love's stars, thou 'It meet her 
In eastern sky. 

Thomas Lovell Bepdoes. 



BRIDx\L SOXG AND DIRGE. 

A CYPRESs-BOUGU and a rose-wreath sweet, 
A wedding-robe and a winding-sheet, 
A bridal-bed and a bier! 
Thine be the kisses, maid. 

And smiling love's alarms; 
And thou, pale youth, be laid 
In the grave's cold arms : 
Each in his own charms — 

Death and Hymen both are here. 
So up with scythe and torch, 
And to the old church porch, 
While all the bells ring clear ; 
And rosy, rosy the bed shall bloom, 
And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb. 

Now tremble dimples on your cheek — 
Sweet be your lips to taste and siieak. 
For he who kisses is ueta" : 
By her the bridegod fair, 

In youthful power and force ; 
By him the grizard bare. 
Pale knight on a pule horse. 
To woo him to a corse — 

Death and Ilyiuen both are here. 
So up with scythe ar.d torch. 
And to the old church porch, 
"While all the bells ring clear ; 
And rosy, rosy the bed shall bloom, 
And eartliy, earthy lieap up the tomb. 
Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 



69 



DIRGE. 



Softly ! 
She h lying 
With her lips ajMirt. 

Softly ! 
She is dying of a broken heart. 



Whisper ! 
She is going 

To her final rest. 
Whisper ! 
Life is growing 
Dim within her breast. 

III. 

Gently! 
She is sleeping; 

She has breathed her last 
Gently! 
While you are weeping. 
She to heaven has past ! 

Cdarles Gaiiage Eastman. 



DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL, 

CxDERXKATn the sod low-lying, 

Dark and drear, 
Sleepeth one who left, in dying 

Sorrow here. 

Yes, they 're ever bending o'er her 

Eyes that weep ; 
Forms, that to the cold grave bore her. 

Vigils keep. 

When the summer moon is shining 

Soft and fair, 
Friends she loved in tears are twining 

Chaplets there. 

Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit, 

Throned above — 

Souls like thine with God inherit 

Life and love ! 

James T. FiELDa 



514 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



A BFJDAL DIRGE. 

"Weave no more the marriage chain ! 

All vmmated is the lover ; 
Death has ta'eri the place of pain ; 
Love doth call on love in vain ; 

Life and years of hope are over ! 

No more want of marriage hell ! 

No more need of bridal fixvor! 
Where is she to wear them well ? 
You beside the lover, tell ! 

Gone — with all the love he gave her ! 

Paler than the stone she lies — 
Colder than the winter's morning ! 

Wherefore did she thus despise 

(She with pity in her eyes) 
Mother's care, and lover's warning ? 

Youth and beauty — shall they not 
Last beyond a brief to-morrow? 

No — a prayer and then forgot ! 

This the truest lover's lot, 

This the sum of human sorrow ! 

Barey Coenwall, 



DIRGE. 



Where shall we make her grave ? 
Oh, where the wild- flowers wave 

In the free air ! 
When shower and singing bird 
'Midst the young leaves are heard- 

TJiere — lay her there ! 

Harsh was the world to her — 
Now may sleep minister 

Balm for each ill ; 
Low on sweet nature's breast 
liCt the meek heart find rest. 

Deep, deep and still ! 

Murmur, glad waters, by ! 
Faint gales, with happy sigh, 

Come wandering o'er 
That green and mossy bed, 
Where, on a gentle head, 

Storms beat no more I 



What though for her in vain 
Fulls now the briglit spring-rain, 

Plays the soft wind ? 
Yet still, from where she lies, 
Should blessed breathings rise, 

Gracious and kind. 

Therefore let song and dew, 
Thence, in the heart renew 

Life's vernal glow ! 
And o'er that holy earth 
Scents of the violet's birth 

Still come and go ! 

Oh, then, where wild-flowers wave, 
Make ye her mossy grave 

In the free air ! 
Where shower and singing-bird 
'Midst the young leaves are heard — 

There, lay her there ! 

Felicia Doeothea 1IF..MA^"S. 



THE PHANTOM. 

Again I sit within the mansion, 

In the old, familiar seat ; 
And shade and sunshine chase each other 

O'er the carpet at my feet. 

But the sweet-brier's arms have wrestled 
upwards 

In the summers that are past. 
And the willow trails its branches lower 

Than when I saw them last. 

They strive to shut the sunshine wholly 
-From out the haunted room — 

To fill the house, that once was joyful. 
With silence and with gloom. 

And many kind, remembered faces 

Within the doorway come — 
Voices, that wake the sweeter music 

Of one that now is dumb. 

They sing, in tones as glad as ever. 

The songs she loved to hear ; 
They braid the rose in summer garlands, 

Whose flowers to her were dear. 



ICHABOD. 



615 



And still, her footsteps in the passage, 

Iler blushes at the door, 
Ilcr timid words of maiden welcome, 

Come back to me once more. 

And all forgetful of my sorrow. 

Unmindful of my i)ain, 
I think she has but newly left me. 

And soon will come again. 

She stays without, perchance, a moment, 
To dress her dark-brown hair ; 

I hear the rustle of her garments — 
Her light step on the stair ! 

O fluttering heart ! control thy tumult, 

Lest eyes profane should see 
My cheeks betray the rush of rapture 

Her coming brings to me ! 

She tarries long : but lo ! a whisper 

Beyond the open door — 
And, gliding through the quiet sunshine, 

A shadow on the tloor ! 

Ah ! 'tis the whispering pine that calls me, 
The Tine Aviiose shadow strays ; 

And ray patient heart must still await her, 
Nor chide her long delays. 

But my heart grows sick with weary wait- 
ing?, 
As many a time before : 
Her foot is ever at the tlireshold. 

Yet never passes o'er. 

Bataed Taylor. 



EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. II. 

"WouLDST thou heare what man can say 

In a little ? — reader, stay ! 

Underneath this stone doth lye 

As much beauty as could dye ; 

"Which in life did harbor give 

To more vertue than doth live. 

If at all she had a fault. 

Leave it buried in this vault. 

One name was Elizabeth — 

Th' other, let it sleep with death : 

Fitter, where it dyed to tell. 

Than that it lived at all. Farewell ! 

Ben J0N30K. 



ICHABOD. 

So fallen ! so lost ! the light witharawn 

Which once he wore ! 
The glor}' from his gray hairs gone 

For evermore ! 

Pievile him not — the tempter hath 

A snare for all ! 
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, 

Befit his fall ! 

Oh ! dumb is passion's stomiy rage, 

When he who might 
Have lighted up and led his age. 

Falls back in night. 

Scorn ! Would the angels laugh, to mark 

A bright soul driven, 
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark. 

From hope and heaven ? 

Let not the land, once proud of him, 

Insult him now ; 
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, 

Dishonored brow. 

But let its humbled sons, instead, 

From sea to lake, 
A long lament, as for the dead, 

In sadness make. 

Of all we loved and honored, naught 

Save power remains — 
A fallen angel's pride of thought, 

Still strong in cliains. 

All else is gone ; from those great eyes 

The soul has fled : 
When faith is lo4, when honor dies, 

The man is dead ! 

Then, pay the i-everence of old days 

To his dead fame ; 
Walk backward, with averted gaze, 

And hide the shame ! 

John Greenleaf ■Wuittiek. 



51(5 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 




Best fight on well, for we taught him — strike 


THE LOST LEADER. 


gallantly, 




Aim at our heart ere w'e jiierce through hi; 




own ; 


I. 


Then let him receive the new knowledge and 


JrsT for a liandful of silver he left us ; 


wait us, 


Just for a riband to stick in his coat — 


Pardoned in heaven, the first by the 


Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, 


throne ! 


Lost all tlie others she lets us devote. 


IvOBE3T Browning. 


They, with the gold to give, doled him out 
silver, 


" 


* 


So much was theirs who so little allowed. 




How all our copper- had gone for his service ! 


OF Tilt FUNERAL OF CHARLES 


Rags — were they purple, his heart had been 


THE FIRST, 


proud ! 




"We that had loved hiui so, followed him, hoii- 


AT NIGHT IN- 6T. GEOKGE's CHAPEL, WINDSOK 


ored him. 


The castle clock had tolled midnight. 


Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. 
Learned his great language, caught his clear 


With mattock and with spade— 


And silent, by the torches' light — 


acceuts, 


His corse in earth we laid. 


Made him our pattern to live and to die! 




Sliakspeare was of us, Milton was for us, 


The coffin bore his name ; that those 


Burns, Shelley, were with us — they watch 


Of other years might know, 


from tlieir graves ! 


When earth its secrets should disclose, 


He alone breaks from the van and the free- 






Whose bones were laid belov.^ 


men ; 




He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! 






"Peace to the dead! " no children sung, 




Slow pacing up the nave ; 


II. 


No prayers were read, no knell was rung. 


We shall march prosi>ering — not through his 


As deep we dug his grave. 


presence ; 




Songs may inspii'it us — not from his lyre ; 


We only heard the winter's wind. 


Deeds will be done — while he boasts his 


In many a sullen gust, 


quiescence, 


As o'er the open grave inclined, 


Still bidding crouch Avhom the rest bade 


We murmured, "Dust to dust!'' 


aspire. 




Blot out his name, tlien — record one lost soul 


A moonbeam from the arch's height 


more, 


Streamed, as we placed the stone; 


One task more declined, one more footpath 


The long aisles started into light. 


untrod, 


And all the windows shone. 


One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for 


1 


angels, 


We thought we saw the banners then 


One wrong more to man, one more insidt 


That shook along the walls, 


to God ! 


Whilst the sad shades of maiLed men 


Life's night begins ; let him never come back 


Were gazing on the stalls. 


to us ! 




There would be doubt, hesitation and pain, 


'Tis gone ! — Again on tombs defaced 


Forced praise on our part — tlie glimmer of 


Sits darkness more profound ; 


twilight. 


And only by the torch we traced 


Kever glad, confident morning airain ! 


The shadows on the ground. 


33 









ox THE DEATH OF GEORGE THE THIRD. 



517 



And now the chilling, freezing air 
Without blew long and loud ; 

Upon our knees we breathed one prayer, 
Where he slept in his shroud. 

We laid the broken marble floor, — 

No name, no trace appears ! 
And when we closed the sounding door. 

We thought of him with tears. 

"WiLi-tAM Lisle Bowles. 



BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 

Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero Ave buried. 

We buried hnn darkly at dead of night. 
The sod with our bayonets turning. 

By the struggling moonbeams' misty light. 
And the lantern dimly_ burning. 

No useless coffin inclosed his breast^ 
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him ; 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
With his martial cloak around him ! 

Few and short were the prayers we said. 
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 

But we steadfastly gazed on the fiice of the 
dead, 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we hoUowed his narrow bed, 
And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er 
his head, 
And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone. 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — 

But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on, 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 
When the clock struck the hour for retir- 
ing ; 

And we knew by the distant random gun, 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 



Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory; 

We carved not a line, we raised not a stone — 
But we left him alone in his glory. 

Chakles Wolfb. 



ON THE DEATH OF GEORGE THE 
THIRD. 

WEITTEN^ UNDER WINDSOR TEUEAOE. 

I SAW him last on this terrace proud. 
Walking in health and gladness, 

Begirt with his court ; and in all the crowd 
Not a single look of sadness. 

Bright was the sun, the leaves were green — 
Blithely the birds were singing ; 

The cymbals replied to the tambourine. 
And the bells were merrily ringing. 

I have stood with the crowd beside his bier, 

When not a word was spoken— 
When every eye was dim with a tear, 

And the silence by sobs was broken. 

I have heard the earth on his coffin pour 
To the muffled drums, deep rolling. 

While the minute-gun, with its solemn roar, 
Drowned the death-bells' tolling. 

The time — since he walked in his glory thus. 

To the gi-ave till I saw him carried — 
Was an age of the mightiest change to us, 

But to him a night unvaried, 

A daughter beloved, a queen, a son, 
And a son's sole child, have perished ; 

And sad was each heart, save only the one 
By which they were fondest cherished ; 

For his eyes were sealed and his mind was 
dark, 

And he sat in his age's lateness — 
Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark 

Of the frailty of human greatness; 

His silver beard, o'er a bosom spread 

Unvexed by life's commotion, 
Like a yearly lengthening snow-drift shed 

On the calm of a frozen ocean. 



1 



51S 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Still o'er Lira oblivion's waters lu}', 
Though the stream of life kept flowing : 

Wlien they spoke of our king, 't was but to 
say 
The old man's strength was going. 

At intervals thus the waves disgorge, 

By weakness rent asunder, 
A piece of the wreck of the Royal George, 

To the people's pity and Avonder. 

lie is gone at length — he is laid in the dust. 
Death's hand his slumbers breaking ; 

For the coffined sleep of the good and just 
Is a sure and blissful waking. 

His people's heart is his funeral urn ; 

And should sculptured stone be denied him, 
There will his name be found, when in turn 

We lay our heads beside him. 

IIOKACE Smith. 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 

A MIST was driving down the British chan- 
nel ; 
The day was just begun; 
And through the window-panes, on floor and 
panel. 
Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pen- 
non, 
And the white sails of ships ; 
And, from the froAVning rampart, the black 
cannon 
Hailed it with feverish lips. 

Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and 
Dover, 

Were all alert that day, 
To see the French war-steamers speeding over 

When the fog cleared away. 

Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, 
Their cannon, through the night. 

Holding their breath, had watched in grim 
deflance 
The sea-coast opposite. 



And now they roared, at drum-beat, from 
their stations 
On every citadel ; 
Each answering each, with morning saluta- 
tions. 
That all was well! 

And down the coast, all taking up the burden. 

Replied the distant forts — 
As if to summon from his sleep the warden 

And lord of the Cinque Ports. 

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of 
azure, 
No drum -beat from the wall, 
No morning gun from the black forts' embra- 
zure. 
Awaken with their call ! 

No more, surveying with an eye impartial 

The long line of the coast. 
Shall the gaunt figure of the old field-marshal 

Be seen upon his post ! 

For in the night, unseen, a single warrior. 

In sombre harness mailed. 
Dreaded of man, and surnamed the destroyer. 

The rampart wall has scaled! 

He passed into the chamber of the sleeper — 

The dark and silent room ; 
And, as he entered, darker grew, and deeper. 

The silence and the gloom. 

He did not pause to parley, or dissemble, 
But smote the warden hoar — 

Ah! what a blow! — that made all England 
tremble 
And groan from shore to shore. 

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited 
The sun rose bright o'erhead — 

Nothing in nature's aspect intimated 
That a great man was dead ! 

Henky Wadswouth Longfeliow, 



STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD. 



5H» 



STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF 
THOMAS HOOD. 



Take back into thy bosom, earth, 

This joyous, May-ej'ed morrow, 
The gentlest child that ever mirth 

Gave to be reared by sorrow ! 
'T is hard — while rays half green, half gold. 

Through vernal bowers are burning. 
And streams their diamond-mirrors hold 

To summer's face returning — 
To say we 're thankful that his sleep 

Sliall never more be lighter, 
In whose sweet-tongued companion^^hip 

Stream, bower, and beam grew brighter ' 



But all the more intensely true 

His soul gave out each feature 
Of elemental love — each hue 

And grace of golden nature — 
The deeper still beneath it all 

Lurked tlie keen jags of anguish ; 
The more the laurels clasped his hrovi 

Their poison made it languish. 
Seemed it that like the nightingale 

Of his own mournful singing, 
The tenderer would his song prevail 

While most the thorn was stinging. 



So never to the desert-worn 

Did fount bring freshness deeper. 
Than that his placid rest this morn 

Has brought the shrouded sleeper. 
That rest may lap his weary head 

Where charnels choke the city. 
Or where, mid woodlands, by his bed 

The wren shall wake its ditty ; 
But near or far, while evening's star 

Is dear to hearts regretting. 
Around that spot admiring thought 

Shall hover, unforgetting. 



And if this sentient, seething world 

Is, after all, ideal. 
Or in the immaterial furled 

Alone resides the real, 



Freed one! there's a wail for thee this hcur 

Through thy loved elves' dominions ; 
Hushed is each tiny trumi)et-flowei", 

And droopeth Ariel's pinions; 
Even Puck, dejected, leaves his swing, 

To plan, with fond endeavor. 
What pretty buds and dews shall keep 

Thy pillow bright for ever. 



And higher, if less happy, tribes — 

The race of early childhood — 
Shall miss thy whims of frolic wit. 

That in the summer wild-wood, 
Or by the Christmas hearth, were hailed, 

And hoarded as a treasure 
Of undecaying merriment 

And ever-changing pleasure. 
Things from thy lavish humor flung 

Profuse as scents, are flying 
This kindling morn, when blooms are born 

xVs fast as blooms are dying. 



Sublimer art owned thy control- 

The minstrel's mightiest magic, 
With sadness to cubdue the soul. 

Or thrill it with the tragic. 
Now listening Aram's fearful dream. 

We see beneath the willow 
That dreadful thing, or watch him steal. 

Guilt-lighted, to his pillow. 
Now with thee roaming ancient groves. 

We watch the woodman felling 
The funeral elm, while through its boughs 

The gliostly wind comes knelling. 



Dear Avorshipper of Dian's face 

In solitary places, 
Shalt thou no more steal, as of yore, 

To meet her white embraces? 
Is there no purple in the rose 

Henceforward to thy senses ? 
For thee have dawn and daylight's close 

Lost their sweet influences ? 
No ! — by the mental night untamed 

Thou took'st to death's dark portal, 
The joy of the wide universe 

Is now to thee immortal ! 



520 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 


Tin. 


The world and all its manifold creation sleep- 


How fierce contrasts the city's roar 
With thy new-conquered quiet! — 
This stunning hell of wheels that pour 


ing— 

The great and small — 
Will there be one, even at that dread hour, 


With princes to their riot ! 
Loud clash the croAvds— the busy clouds 


Aveeping 

For me — for all ? 


AVith thunder-noise are shaken, 




While pale, and mute, and cold, afar 


When no star twinkles with its eye of glory 


Thou liest. men-forsaken. 


On that low mound. 


Hot life reeks on, nor recks that one 


And wintry storms have with their ruins 


— The playful, human-hearted — 


hoary 


Who lent its clay less earthiness. 


Its loneness crowned. 


Is just from earth departed. 

B. SiMMOUS. 


Will there be then one versed in misery's 
story 




Pacing it round? 
It may be so — but this is selfish soi-row 




WHEN I BENEATH THE COLD, EED 


To ask such meed — 


EARTH AM SLEEPING. 


A weakness and a wickedness, to borrow 




From hearts that bleed 


When I beneath the cold, red earth am sleep- 


The wailings of to-day, for what to-morrow 


"iS, 


Shall never need. 


Life's fever o'er. 




Will there for me be any bright eye weeping 

That I 'm no more ? 
Will there be any heart still memory keeping 

Of heretofore ? 


Lay me then gently in my narrow dwelling, 

Thou gentle heart ! 
And, though thy bosom should with grief be 
swelling. 




Let no tear start ; 


When the great winds, through leafless for- 


It were in vain — for time hath long been 


ests rushing. 


knelling — ■ 


Like full hearts break — 


Sad one, depart ! 


When the swoll'n streams, o'er crag and gully 


William Motiieuweli.. 


gushing, 




Sad music make — 


» — - 


Will there be one, whose heart despair is 




crushing, 

Mourn for my sake ? 


A POET'S EPITAPH. 




Stop, mortal ! Here thy brother lies — 


When the bright sun upon that spot is shin- 


Tlie poet of the poor. 


ing 


His books were rivers, woods, and skies, 


With purest ray. 


The meadow and the moor; 


And the small flowers, their buds and blos- 


His teachers were the torn heart's wail, 


soms twining. 


The tyrant and the slave, 


Burst through that clay — 


The street, the factory, the jail, 


Will there be one still on that spot repining 


The palace — and the grave ! 


Lost hopes all day ? 


Sin met thy brother every where ! 




And is thy brother blamed ? 


When the i;ight shadows, with the araj)le 


From passion, danger, doubt, and care, 


sweeping 


He no exemption claimed. 


Of her dark pall, 


The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm, 



A LAMENT. 



521 



He feared to scorn or bate ; 
But, honoring in a peasant's form 

Tlie eqnal of the great, 
He blessed tlie steward, whose wealtli makes 

The poor man's little, more ; 
Yet loathed the haughty wretch that takes 

From plundered labor's store. 
A hand to do, a head to plan, 

A heart to feel and dare — 
Tell man's worst foes, here lies the man 

Who drew them as they are. 

Ebenezee Elliott. 



SOLITUDE. 

It is not that my lot is low 
That makes this silent tear to flow ; 
It is not grief that bids me moan ; 
It is that I am all alone. 



In woods and glens I love to roam, 
When the tired hedger hies him home ; 
Or by the woodland pool to rest, 
When pale the star looks on its breast. 

Yet when the silent evening sighs 
With hallowed airs and symphonies, 
My spirit takes another tone, 
And siffhs that it is all alone. 



The autumn leaf is sere and dead — 
It floats upon the water's bed ; 
I would not be a leaf, to die 
Without recording sorrow's sigh ! 

The woods and winds, with sullen wail. 
Toll all the same unvaried tale ; 
I 've none to smile when I am free. 
And when I siijh to sigh with me. 



Yet in my dreams a form I view. 
That thiuis on me, and loves me too , 
I start, and when tlie vision 's flown, 
I weep that I am all alone. 

Hesky Kikke White. 

70 



A LAMENT. 

Swifter far than summer's flight, 
Swifter far than youth's delight. 
Swifter far than happy night. 

Art thou come and gone ; 
As the earth when leaves are dead, 
As the night when sleep is sped, 
As the heart when joy is fled, 

I am left lone, alone. 

The swallow, summer, comes again; 
The owlet, night, resumes her reign ; 
But the wild swan, youth, is fain 

To fly with thee, false as thou. 
My heart each day desires the morrow ; 
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow ; 
Vainly would my winter borrow 

Sunny leaves from any bough. 

Lilies for a bridal bed, 
Roses for a matron's head, 
Violets for a maiden dead — 

Pansies let my flowers be ; 
On the living grave I bear, 
Scatter them without a tear, 
Let no friend, however dear, 

Waste one hope, one fear for me. 
Perov Btsshe Shelley. 



A LAMENT. 

O WORLD ! O life ! O time ! 
On whose last steps I climb, 

Trembling at that where I had stood before, 
When will return the glory of your prime? 

No more — oh, never more ! 

Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight ; 

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
Move my faint heart with grief, but with 
delight 

No more — oh, never more ! 

PeECY BY68nE SnELLEV. 



622 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



" CALM IS THE NIGHT." 

Calm is the night, and the city is sleeping — 
Once in this house dwelt a lady fair; 

Long, long ago, she left it, weeping; 
But still the old house is standing there. 

Yonder a man at the heavens is staring, 
"Wi'inging his hands as in sorrowful case ; 

He turns to the moonlight, liis countenance 
baring — 
Oil. heaven ! he shows me my own sad face ! 

Shadowy form, with my own agreeing ! 

Why mockest thou thus, in the moonlight 
cold, 
The sorrows which here once vexed my being, 

Jilany a night in the days of old ? 

Henky Heine. (German.) 
Trauslation of Charles Q. Lei.and. 



THE CASTLE BY THE SEA. 

'• Hast thou seen that lordly castle. 

That castle by the sea? 
Golden and red, above it 

The clouds float gorgeously. 

" And fain it would stoop downward 
To the mirrored wave below ; 

And fain it would soar upward 
In the evening's crimson glow." 

" Well have I seen that castle, 

That castle by the sea — 
And the moon above it standing. 

And the mist rise solemnly." 

'' The winds and waves of ocean, 

Had they a merry chime? 
Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers, 

Tlie harp and the minstrcPs rhyme? " 

'' Tlie winds and the waves of ocean, 

They rested quietly; 
But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, 

And tears came to mine eye." 

" And sawest thou on tlie turrets 
Tlie king and his royal bride ? 

And the wave of their crimson mantles" 
And the golden crown of pride ? 



"Led they not forth, in rapture, 

A beauteous maiden there — 
Eesplendent as the morning sun, 

Beaming with golden hair?" 

" Well saw I the ancient parents, 

Without the crown of pride ; 
They were moving slow, in weeds of woe ; 

No maiden was by their side! " 

LuDwiG Uhland. (German.) 
Translation of Henry W. Longfellow. 



MOTHER AND POET. 

TUEIN — AFTEK NEWS FKOM GAETA. 1861. 



Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the 
east. 
And one of them shot in the west by the 
sea. 
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the 
feast 
And are wanting a great song for Italy free, 
Let none look at me ! 



Yet I was a poetess only last year, 
And good at my art, for a woman, men 
said. 
But this woman, this, who is agonized here. 
The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her 
head 

For ever instead. 



What art can a vroman be good at? oh, vain! 
What art is she good at, but hurting her 
breast 
With the milk teeth of babes, and a smile at 
the pain ? 
Ah, boys, how you hurt! you were strong 
as you pressed, 

And I, proud by that test. 



What art's for a woman! To hold on her 
knees 
Both darlings ! to feel all their .arms round 
her throat 



1 

MOTHER 


AND POET. 523 


Cliog, struggle a little ! to sew by degrees 


To be leant on and walked with, recalling the 


Aud 'broider tlie long-clotbes and neat 


time 


little coat ! 


When the first grew immortal, while both 


To dream and to dote. 


of us strained 


V. 


To the height he had gained. 


To teach them. . . It stings there. I made 




them indeed 


X. 


Speak plain the word "country," I taught 


And letters still came, — shorter, sadder, more 


them no doubt 


strong. 


That a country 's a thing men should die for 


Writ now but in one hand. " I was not to 


at need. 


faint. 


I prated of liberty, rights, and about 


One loved me for two . . would be with me 


The tyrant turned out. 


ere long : 




And ' viva Italia ' he died for, our saint, 


TI. 


Who forbids our complaint." 


And when their eyes flashed. . . my beau- 




tiful eyes ! . . 


XI. 


I exulted ! nay, let them go forth at the 




wheels 


My ISTanni would add "he was safe, and 


Of the guns, and denied not. — But then the 


av/are 


surprise. 


Of a presence that turned otf the balls . . . 


When one sits quite alone ! — Then one 


was imprest 


weeps, then one kneels ! 


It was Guido himself, who knew what I could 


— God! how the house feels! 


bear. 




And how 'twas impossible, quite dis- 


VII. 

At first happy news came, in gay letters 


possessed, 


moiled 


To live on for the rest." 


With ray kisses, of camp-life, and glory. 




and how 


XII. 


They both loved me, and soon, coming home 


On which Avitliout pause up the telegraph 


to be spoiled. 


line 


In return would fan oif every fly from my 


Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta: 


brow 


—"Shot. 


With their green laurel-bough. 


Tell his mother." Ah, ah, "his," "their" 




mother; not "mine." 


Tm. 


No voice says " my mother" again to me. 


Then was triumph at Turin. " Ancona was 


What ! 


free ! " 


You think Guido forgot ? 


And some one came out of the cheers in 




the street 


XIII 


With a face pale as stone, to say something 




to me. 


Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with 


— My Guido was dead ! — I fell doum at his 


heaven. 


feet, 


They drop earth's aifections, conceive not 


While they cheered in tlie street. 


of woe? 




I think not. Themselves were too lately for- 


IX. 


given 


I bore it ; — friends soothed me : my grief 


Through that love and sorrow which recon- 


looked sublime 


ciled so 


As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained 


The above and below. 



524 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



O Christ of the seven wounds, who look'dst 
through tlie dark 
To the ftice of thy mother! consider, I pray, 
ITow we common mother! stand desolate, 
mark, 
Whoso sons, not being Ohrists, die witli 
eyes turned away. 
And no hist word to say ! 



Both boys dead! but that's out of nature; 
We all 
Have been patriots, yet each liouse must 
always keep one. 
'T were imbecile, hewhig out roads to a wall. 
And when Italy 's made, for what end is it 
done, 

If we have not a sou ? 



Ah, ah, ah! when Gaeta's taken, what then? 
When the fair wicked queen sits no more 
at her sport 
Of the fire-balls of death crashing pouls out 
of men ? 
When your guns at Cavalh with final retort 
Have cut the game short. — 



When Venice and Eome keep their new 
jubilee, 
When your flag takes all heaven for its 
white, green, and red. 
When you have your country from mountain 
to sea. 
When King Victor has Italy's crown on 
his head, 

(And I have my dead,) 



What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring 
your bells low. 
And burn your lights faintly ! — My country 
is there, 
Above the star pricked by the last peak of 
snow, 
My Italy's there, — with my brave civic 
pair, 

To disfranchise despair. 



Forgive me. Some women bear children in 
strength, 
And bite back the cry of their pain in self- 
scorn. 
But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us 
at length 
Into such wail as this! — and we sit on 
forlorn 

When the man-child is born. 



Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the 
west, 
And one of them shot in the east by the 
sea ! 
Both ! both my boys ! — If iu keeping the feast 
You want a great song for your Italy free, 
Let none look at me ! 

Elizabeth Bakrett BcowNisfi. 



TIIE FISHING SONG, 

Dowx in the wide, gray river 
The current is sweeping strong; 

Over the wide, gray river 
Floats the fisherman's song. 

The oar-stroke times the singing, 
The song falls wah the oar ; 

And an echo in both is ringing, 
I thouglit to hear no more. 

Ont of a deeper current 
The song brings back to me 

A cry from mortal silence 
Of mortal agony. 

Life that was spent and vanished, 
Love that had died of wrong. 

Hearts that are dead in living. 

Come back in the fisherman's song. 

I sec the maples leafing, 
Just as they leafed before ; 

The green grass comes no gi'eener 
Down to the very shore — 

With the rude strain swelling, sinking, 
In the cadence of.days gone by, 

As the oar, from the water drinking, 
Eipples the mirrored sky. 



THE DAYS THAT ARE KO MORE. 



525 



Yet the soul hath Ufe diviner ; 

Its past returns no mure, 
But in echoes, that answer the minor 

Of the boat-song, from the shore. 

And tlic ways of God arc darkness ; 

His judgment waiteth long; 
He breaks the heart of a woman 

■With a lishcrman's careless song. 

EosE Teery. 



"BREAK, BREAK, BREAK." 

Beeak, break, break 

On thy cold gray stones, O sea ! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me. 

Oh well for the fisherman's hoy 
That he shouts with his sister at play ! 

Oh well for the sailor lad 

That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 

And the stately ships go on, 

To the haven under the hill; 
But oh for the touch of a vanished hand. 

And the sound of a voice that is still ! 

Break, break, break 

At the foot of thy crags, sea ! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me, 

Alfred Tesntson. 



THE DAYS THAT ARE XO MORE. 

Tears, idle tears ! I know not what they 
mean. 
Tears, from the depth of some divine despair, 
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, 
In looking on the happy autumn fields, 
And thinking of the days that are no more. 

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail 
That brings our friends up from Ihe under. 

world ; 
Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge 
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer 

dawns 
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds 
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
The casement slowly grows a glimmering 

square : 
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 

Dear as remembered kisses after death, 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned 
On lips that are for others ; deep as love, 
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret, 
death in life ! the days tliat are no more. 

Alfred Texntson. 



PAET VIII. 

POEMS OF THE IMAGINATIOIV 



I KNOW more than Apollo ; 
For oft, when he lies sleeping, 

I behold the stars 

At mortal wars, 
And the rounded welkin weeping. 
The moon embraces her shepherd ; 
And the qneen of love her warrior; 

While the first doth horn 

The stars of the morn, 
And the next the heavenlj' farrier. 

With a host of furious fancies. 
Whereof I am commander — 
With a burning spear. 
And a horse of air, 
lo the wilderness I wander; 
W^ith a knight of ghosts and shadows 
I summoned am to tourney, 
Ten leagues beyond 
The wide world's end — 
j\Iethiuks it is no journey ! 

Tom o' Bedi^m. 



POEMS or THE IMAOmATIO]^. 



KING AETHUR'S DEATH. 

On Trinitye jNIondaye in the inorne, 
Tliis sore battayle was doom'd to be, 

WJiere manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye ! — 
Alacke, it was the more pittie. 

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 
When as the kinge in his bed laye, 

He thoughte Sir Gawaine to hira came, 
And tliere to him tliese wordes did saye : 

" Nowe, as you are mine uncle deare, 
And as you prize your life, this daye 

Oh meet not with your foe in tighte ; 
Putt off the battayle, if yce maye ! 

"For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce, 
And with him many an hardye knighte, 

Who will within this moneth be backe. 
And will assiste yee in the lighte." 

The kinge then called his nobles all, 
Before the breakinge of the daye, 

And tolde them howe Sir Gawaine came. 
And there to him these wordes did saye. 

His nobles all this counsayle gave : 
That, earlye in the morning, liee 

Shold send awaye an herauld at arraes, 
To aske a parley faire and free. 

Tlien twelve good knightesKing Arthur chose, 
The best of all that with him were, 

To parley with the foe in field. 

And make witli him agreement faire. 
11 



The king he charged all his hoste 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sliolde noe weapon sturre, 

Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see. 

And Mordred, on the other parte. 

Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe, 

The beste of all his companye, 

To holde the parley with the kinge. 

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sliolde noe weapon sturre. 

But if a sworde drawne they shold see. 

For he durste not his uncle truste. 
Nor he his nepl^ewe, sothe to tell ; 

Alacke! it was a woefulle case, 
As ere in Cln-istentye befelle. 

But when they were together mette, 
And both to faire accordance broughte. 

And a month's league betweene them sette, 
Before the battayle sliolde be foughte, 

An addere crepte forthe of a bushe, 

Stunge one o' the king's knightes on the 
knee ; 

Alacke ! it was a woefulle chance. 
As ever was in Christentie. 

When the knighte found him Avounded sore. 
And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there, 

His sworde he from his scabberde drewe— 
A piteous case, as ye shall hears. 



550 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



For when the two hostes sawe the sworde 
They joyned hattayle instantlye ; 

Till of so manye noble knightes 

On one side there were left but three. 

For all were slaine that durst abide, 
And but some fewe that fled awaye ; 

Ah niee ! it was a bloodye fielde, 
As ere was foughte on summer's daye. 

Ui^on King Arthur's own partye 

Onlye himselfe escaped there, 
And Lukyn, duke of Gloster, free — 

And the king's butler, Bedevere. 

And when the king beheld his knightes 
All dead and scattered on the molde, 

The teares fast trickled downe his face — 
That manlye face in fight so bolde. 

. " Nowe reste yee all, brave knights," he 
said — 
" Soe true and faithful to your trust ! 
And must yee then, yee valiant hearts. 
Be lefte to moulder into dust ? 

" Most loyal have yee been to mee, 
Most true and faithful unto deathe ; 

And, oh ! to rayse yee up againe, 
llow freelye could I yield my breathe! 

" But see, the traitor 's yet alive ! 

Lo where hee stalkes among the deade I 
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye, 

And vengeance fall upon his head." 

" Oh staye, my liege ! " then sayd the duke ; 

"Oh staye for love and charitie! 
Remember what the vision spake, 

Nor meete your foe, if it may bee." 

" Oh staye mee not, thou worthye wight ! 

This debt my loyal knights I owe ; 
Betide me life, betide me death, 

T will avenge them of their foe." 

Then straite he grasped his trusty speare. 
And on his horse then mounted hee : 

As his butler holpe him to his horse 
His bowels gushed to his knee. 



"Alas ! " then sayd the noble king, 
"That I should live this sight to see! — 

To see this good knight here be slaine. 
All for his love in helping mee ! " 

He put his speare into his reste. 

And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye : 
"Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde! 

For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye ! " 

Sir Mordred lifted up his sv/orde. 
And jierce to meet the king ran hee , 

Tiie king his speare he through him thrust — 
A fathom thorow his bodie. 

"When Mordred felt the stroke of death, 
And found that he was wounded soe, 

lie thruste himselfe upon the speare. 
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe. 

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered, 

Presentlye upon that tree ; 
And bloody streames ranne from the kingo, 

Ere to the duke returned hee. 

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake : 

" Sir knighte, thou hast been faithfullc 
tryde ; 
Nowe take my sword Excalibar, 

That hangs so freelye by my syde — 

" Oh take my sworde Excalibar, 
And there into the river throwe ; 

For here, henceforth, benethe this tree, 
All use of weapons I foregoe. 

"And fare thee well, thou trustye sword! 

A better neer had valiant knighte ; 
With thee full ofte, and many a daye, 

Have I Avithstood my foe in fighte. 

"With this good fauchion in my hande, 
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde ; 

But nowe the fatalle houre is come. 
That never more I may thee weelde." 

Tlie duke to the river side he went, 

And there his owne sword in threwe he; 

But he kept back Excalibar — 
He kept it back in privitie. 



r' 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 



531 



For all of coleyae was the blade, 
And all the liilte of precious stone : 

"And ever alacke! " then sayd the knighte, 
"Must such a sword awaye be throwne? " 

Then backe he came unto the kinge, 
Who sayd, "Sir Lukyn, what did yee 
see ? "— 

"Nothing, my liege, save ohat the winde 
Blewe oer the waters faire and free." 

" Oh goe againe," then said the kinge, 
" good Syr Lukyn, goe againe ! 

Into the rivere throwe my sword, 
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine." 

The duke then to the river went, 

And the king's scabbard in threwe hee ; 

But hee kept backe Excalibar, 
And hid it underuethe a tree. 

Then backe he came to tell the kinge, 

"Who sayde, " Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte?" 

" Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 
Nowe with the angrye Avaters fought." 

"O Lukyn, Lnkyn," said the kinge, 
" Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye ! 

A.lacke ! whom may wee ever truste. 
When suche a knighte soe false can bee? 

"Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead. 
All for a sword that wins thine eye ? 

Now goe againe, and throwe it in. 
Or here the one of us shall dye." 

The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 
No aunswere made unto the kinge ; 

But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. 

A hande and an arme did meete the sworde, 
And flourished three times in the air; 

Then sunke benethe the renninge streme, 
And of the duke was scene noe mair. 

All sore astonied stood the duke — 
lie stood as still as still mote bee ; 

Then liastend backe to tell the kinge — 
But he was gone from under the tree. 



But to what place he cold not tell. 
For never after hee did him see ; 

But bee sawe a barge goe from the land. 
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye. 

And whether the kiuge were there or not, 
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde ; 

For from that sad and direfulle daye 
Hee never more was scene on molde. 

ANONTMOUa. 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 

Teue Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ; 

A ferlie he spied wi' his ee ; 
And there he saw a ladye bright. 

Come riding down by the Eildon tree. 

Her shirt was o' the grass green silk. 
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; 

At ilka tett of her horse's mane 
Hung fifty siller bells and nine. 

True Thomas he pulled aff his cap. 
And louted low down to his knee ; 

"All hail, thou mighty queen of heaven! 
For thy peer on earth I never did see."- 

" Oh no, oil no, Thomas! " she said, 
" That name does not belang to me ; 

I am but the queen of fair Eltland, 
That am hither come to visit thee. 

"Harp and carp, Thomas! " she said 
" Harp and carp along wi' me ! 

And if ye dare to kiss my lips. 
Sure of your bodie I will be." 

" Betide me weal, betide me woe, 
That weird shall never dauuton me." — 

Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, 
All underneath the Eildon tree. 

"Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said— 
" True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ; 

And ye maun serve me seven years, 

Tliro' weal or woe as mr.y chance to be." 



582 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION 



She mounted on lier milk-white steed ; 

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind; 
And aye, Avhene'er her bridle rung, 

The steed flew swifter than the wind. 

And tliey rade on, and farther on — 
The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 

Until they reached a desert wide, 
And living land was left behind. 

" Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee ! 

Abide and rest a little space, 

And I will shew you ferlies three. 

" Oh see ye not yon narrow road, 

So thick beset with thorns and briers ? 

Tliat is the path of righteousness. 
Though after it but few enquires. 

"And see ye not that braid, braid road, 

That lies across that lily leven ? 
That is the path of wickedness — 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 

" And see not ye that bonny road, 
That winds about the fernie brae ? 

That is the road to fair Eltland, 

Where thou and I this night maun gae. 

•'But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 

Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
For, if you speak word in Elfyn land, 

Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain couutrie." 

Oh they rade on, and farther on, 

And they waded through rivers aboon the 
knee ; 
And they saw neither sun nor moon, 

But they heard the roaring of the sea. 

It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae 
stern light. 
And they waded through red blude to the 
knee ; 
For a' the blude that's shed on earth 

Hins through the springs o' that countrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden green, 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree : 

"Take this for thy wages, true Thomas — 
It will give thee the tongue that can never 
lie." 



" My tongue is mine ain ; " true Thomas said ; 

" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me ! 
I neither dought to buy nor sell. 

At fair or tryst Avhere I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer, 
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." — 

" Now hold thy peace ! " the lady said, 
"For as I say. so must it be." — 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And till seven years were gane and past, 
True Thomas on earth was never seen. 

Anont;4ous. 



THE WEE WEE MAN. 

As I was walking by my lane, 
Atween a water and a wa, 

There sune I spied a wee, Avee man- 
He was the least that ere I saw. 

His legs were scant a shathmont's length, 
And sma and limber was his thie ; 

Between his een there was a span. 

Betwixt his shoulders there were ells three 

He has tane up a meikle stane. 
And flang 't as far as I cold see ; 

Ein thouch I had been Wallace wicht, 
I dought na lift it to my knie. 

"0 wee, wee man, but ye be Strang! 

Tell me whar may thy dwelling be ?" 
" I dwell beneth that bonnie bouir— 

Oh will ye gae wi me and see ? " 

On we lap, and awa we rade, 

Till we cam to a bonny green ; 
We lichted syne to bait our steid. 

And out there cam a lady sheen— 

Wi four and twentie at her back, 
A comely cled in glistering green ; 

Thouch there the king of Scots had stude, 
TIic warst micht weil hae been his queen. 



THE MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIX GOOD-FELLOW. 



5C3 



On sync we past wi Avontlering clieir, 

Till we cam to a bonny lia ; 
The roof was o' the beaten gowd, 

The liure was o' the crystal a'. 

When we cam there, wi wee, wee knichts 
War ladies dancing, jimp and sma; 

But in the twinkling of an eie 
T5aith green and ha war clein awa. 

Anonymous. 



THE MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN" 
GOOD-FELLOW 

From Oberon, in fairy land, 

The king of ghosts and shadowes there, 
Mad Robin, I, at his command. 
Am sent to view the night-sports here. 
What revell rout 
Is kept about 
In every corner where I go, 
I will o'ersee, 
And merrie be, 
And make good sport with ho, ho, ho ! 

More swift than lightning can I flye 

About the aery welkin soone. 
And in a minute's space descrye 
Each thing that 's done belowe the moone. 
There 's nut a hag 
Or ghost shall wag. 
Or cry 'ware goblins! where I go ; 
But Robin, I, 
Their feates Avill spy, 
And send them home with ho, ho, ho! 

Whene'er such wanderers I meete, 

Asfrom their night-sports they trudge home. 
With counterfeiting voice I greete. 
And call them on with me to roame. 
Thro' woods, thro' lakes. 
Thro' bogs, thro' brakes, 
Or else unseene, with them I go — 
All in the nicke. 
To i)lay some trick e. 
And frolick it with ho, ho, ho ! 



Sometimes I meete them like a man — 

Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound; 
And to a horse I turn me can. 

To trip and trot about them round ; 
But, if tu ride. 
My backe they stride. 
More swift than wind away I goe ; 
O'er hedge and lands, 
Through pools and ponds, 
I whirry, laughing ho, ho, ho ! 

When lads and lasses merry be, 

AVith possets, and with junkets fine, 
Unseene of all tlie company, 

I eat their cakes, and sip their wine ; 
And to make sport, 
I fume and snort. 
And out the candles I do blow. 
The maids I kiss ; 
They shrieke, Who's this? 
I answer nought but ho, ho, ho ! . 

Yet now and then, the maids to please, 

At midnight I card up their wooll ; 
And while they sleepe and take their east. 
With wheel to threads their flax I pull. 
I grind at mill 
Their malt up still ,• 
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow. 
If any wake, 
And would me take, 
I wend me laughing ho, ho, ho ! 

When house or hearth doth sluttish lye, 

I pinch the maidens black and blue ; 
The bedd-clothes from the bedd pull I, 
And in their ear I bawl too-whoo ! 
'Twixt sleepe and wake 
I do them talce, 
And on the clay-cold floor them throw ; 
If out they cry, 
Then forth 1 fly, 
And loudly laugh out ho, ho, ho ! 

When any need to borrow ought. 

We lend them what they do require ; 
And for the use demand we naught — 
Our owne is all we do desire. 
If to repay 
They do delay, 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Abroad amongst them then I go ; 

And night by night 

I them aftVight, 
With pincliings, dreams, and ho, bo, bo ! 

Wlien lazie queans bave nought to do 

But study bow to cog and lye. 
To make debate and miscbiet' too, 
'Twixt one another secretly, 
I marke their gloze. 
And it disclose 
To tbem whom they bave wronged so, 
"When I have done 
I get me gone, 
And leave them scolding, ho, bo, ho ! 

"When men do traps and engines set 

In loope boles, where the vermine creepe, 
Who from their foldes and houses get 

Their duckes and geese, and lambes and 
slieepe, 

I spy the gin, 
And enter in. 
And seeme a vermin taken so ; 
But when they there 
Approach me neare, 
I leap out laughing ho, bo, bo ! 

By wells and rills, in meadowes green. 

We nightly dance our bey-day guise ; 
And to our fairye kinge and queene 

We cbaunt our moon-liglite minstrelsies. 
When larkes gin singe 
Away we flinge. 
And babes new-born steale as we go ; 
And shoes in bed 
We leave instead. 
And wend us laughing ho, bo, bo ! 

From bag-bred Merlin's time bave I 
Thus nightly revelled to and fro ; 
And, for my prankes, men call me by 
The name of Robin Good-Fellow. 

Friends, ghosts, and sprites 
Who haunt the nightes. 
The bags and gobblins, do me know ; 
And beldames old 
My feates bave told — 

So val(\ talc ! IIo, ho, bo ! 

Anonymol'3. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

Come, follow, follow me — 
You, fairy elves that be, 
Which circle on the green — 
Come, follow Mab, your queen! 

Hand in band let's dance around, 

For this place is fairy ground. 

When mortals are at rest. 

And snoring in tbeir nest, 

Unheard and unespied, 

Through keyholes we do glide ; 
Over tables, stools, and shelves. 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 

And if the bouse be foul 

With platter, dish, or bowl, 

Up stairs we nimbly creep, 

And find the sluts asleep ; 
There we pinch tbeir arms and thighs- • 
None escapes, nor none espies. 

But if the bouse be swept, 
And from uncleanness kept, 
We praise the household maid, 
And duly she is paid ; 

For we use, before we go, 

To drop a tester in ber shoe. 

Upon a mushroom's bead 

Our table cloth we spread ; 

A grain of rye or wheat 

Is mancbet, which we eat ; 
Pearly drops of dew we drink, 
In acorn cups, filled to the brjnk. , 

The brains of nightingales, 
With unctuous fat of snails, 
Between two cockles stewed, 
Is meat that 's easily chewed ; 
Tails of worms, and marrow of mice, 
Do make a dish that's wondrous nice. 

The grasshopper, gnat, and -fly, 

Serve us for our minstrelsy ; 

Grace said, we dance a while. 

And so the time beguile ; 
And if the moon dt>tb hide ber head, 
The !jlow-worm lights us home to bed. 



FAIRY SOXG. 



On to])S of dewy grass 
So nimbly do we pass, 
The youni? and tender stalk 
Ne'er bends when we do walk ; 
Yet in the morning may be seen 
Where we the night bclbre have been. 
Anonymous. 



THE FAirJES' SONG. 

We dance on hills above the wind, 
And leave our footsteps there behind ; 
Which shall to after ages last, 
When all our dancing days are past. 

Sometimes we dance upon the shore, 
To whistling winds and seas that roar ; 
Then we make the wind to blow. 
And set the seas a-dancing too. 

The thunder's noise is our delight, 
And lightnings make us day by night ; 
And in the air we dance on high. 
To the loud music of the sky. 

About the moon we make a ring. 
And falling stars we wanton iling, 
Like squibs and rockets, for a toy ; 
While what friglits others is our joy. 

But when we 'd hunt awa}' our cares, 
We boldly mount the galloping spheres ; 
And, riding so from east to west. 
We chase each nimble zodiac beast. 

Thus, giddy grown, we make our beds. 
With thick, black clouds to rest our heads, 
And flood the earth with our dark showers. 
That did but sprinkle these our bowers. 

Thus, having done with orbs and sky, 
Those mighty spaces vast and high. 
Then down we come and take the shapes, 
SouK'times of cats, sometimes of apes. 

Next, turned to mites in cheese, forsooth. 
We got into some hollow tooth ; 
Wherein, as in a Christmas hall. 
We frisk and dance, tlie devil and all. 



Then we change our wily features 
Into yet far smaller creatures, 
And dance in joints of gouty toes. 
To painful tunes of groans and woes. 

Anonymous. 



SONG OF THE FAIRY. 

OvEK hill, over dale. 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
Over park, over pale. 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
I do wander every where, 
Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
And I serve the fairy queen, 
To dew her orbs upon the green; 
The cowslips tall her pensioners be; 
In their gold coats spots you see : 
These be rubies, fairy favors — 
In those freckles live their savors. 
I must go seek some dewdrops here. 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 

SnAKESPEAUi: 



FAIRY SONG. 

SnED no-tear ! oh shed no tear ! 
The flower will bloom another year. 
Weep no more ! oh weep no more ! 
Young buds sleep in the root's white core. 
Dry your eyes ! oh dry your eyes ! 
For I was taught in Paradise 
To ease my breast of melodies — 
Shed no tear. 

Overhead ! look overhead ! 
'ilong the blossoms white and red— • 
Look up, look up ! I flutter now 
On this fresh pomegranate bough. 
See me! 'tis this silvery bill 
Ever cures the good man's ill. 
Shed no tear ! oh shed no tear ! 
The flower will bloom another year. 
Adieu, adieu — I fly — adieu ! 
I vanish in the heaven's blue — 

Adieu, adieu I 

John KEAxa 



._|i 



533 POEMS OF THE 


IMAGINATIOiV. 


SONG OF FAIEIES. 


V. 

I made a garland for her head. 




And bracelets too, and fragrant zone • 


We the fairies, blithe and antic, 


She looked at me as she did love, 


Of dimensions not gigantic. 


And made sweet moan. 


Though the moonshine mostly keep us, 




Oft in orchards frisk and peep ns. 


VI. 


Stolen sweets are always sweeter; 
Stolen kisses much completer ; 
*_.', Stolen looks are nice in chapels : 
Stolen, stolen be your apples. 


I set her on my pacing steed. 

And nothing else saw all day long ; 

For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
A fairy song. 


When to bed the world are bobbing, 
Then's the time for orchard-robbing; 
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling 
Were it not for stealing, stealing. 

Thomas Eajjdolph. (Latin.) 


TII. 

She found me roots of relish sweet. 
And honey wild, and manna dev,' ; 

And sure in language strange she said — 
" I love thee true." 


Translation of Leigh Hunt. 






vin. 




She took me to her elfin grot. 

And there she wept, and sighed full sore ; 






And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 


LA BELLE DAME SANS MEECL 


With kisses four. 


A BALLAD. 


IX. 


I. 


And there she lulled me asleep ; 


On what can ail thee,knight-at-arms! 

Alone and palely loitering ? 
The sedge has withered from the lake. 


And there I dreamed — Ah ! woe betide ! 
The latest dream I ever dreamed 
On the cold hill's side. 


And no birds sing. 


X. 




I saw pale kings and princes too — 


II. 


Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; 


Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! 


They cried — " La belle dame sans merci 


So haggard an<l so woe-begone ? 


Hath thee in thrall!" 


The squirrel's granary is full, 




And the harvest 's done. 


XI. 




I saw their starved lips in the gloam, 


III. 


With horrid warning gaped wide ; 


I see a lily on thy brow. 


And I awoke and found me here. 


With anguish moist and fever dew ; 


On the cold hill's side. 


And on thy clieeks a fading rose 




Fast withereth too. 


sir. 


1 


And this is xdij I sojourn here, 


IV. 


Alone and palely loitering, 


1 met a lady in the mead — 


Though the sedge is withered from the 


Full beautiful, a fairy's child ; 


lake, 


Her hair was long, her foot was light, 


And no birds sing. 


And her eyes were wild. 


John Keats 



K 1 1. M E N Y . 



537 



KILMENY. 

Bonny Eilmeny gaed up the glen ; 
But it wasna to meet Duueira's men, 
Nor the rosy monk of the isie to see, 
For Kihneny was pure as pure could be. 
It was only to hear the yorlin sing, 
And pu' the cress-flower round the spring^— 
The scarlet hyjjp, and the hind berry, 
And the nut that hung frae the liazel tree ; 
For Kihneny was i)ure as pure could be. 
But lang may her minny look o'er the wa', 
And lang may she seek i' the green-wood 

shaw ; 
Lang the laird of Duneira blame, 
And lang, lang greet or Kihneny come liame. 

"When man} a day had come and fled, 
"When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, 
^\'hen mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung. 
When the bedes-man had prayed, and the 

dead-bell rung; 
Late, late in a gloamin, Avhen all was still, 
When the fringe was red on the westlin hill. 
The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane. 
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain — 
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; 
When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, 
Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came 

hame ! 

"Kilmeny, Kihneny, where have you been? 
Lnng hae we sought both holt and den — 
By linn, by ford, and green-wood ti-ee ; 
Yet you are halcsome and fair to see. 
Where got you that jonp o' the lily sheen? 
That bonny snood of tlie birk sae green? 
And these roses, the fairest that ever was 

seen ? 
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? " 

Kilmeny looked np with a lovely grace. 
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face ; 
As'still was her look, and as still was her ee. 
As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea. 
Or tlie mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. 
F(jr Kihneny had been she knew not where. 
And Kilmeny had seen what slje could not 
declare ; 

12 



Kilmeny had been where the cock never 

crew, ' 
Where the rain never fell, and the wind nevei 

blew ; 
But it seemed as the harp of the sky had 

rung. 
And the airs of heaven played round her 

tongue, 
When she spake of the lovely forms she had 

seen. 
And a land where sin had never been — 
A land of love, and a land of light, 
AVithouten sun, or moon, or night; 
Where the river swa'd a living stream. 
And the light a pure celestial beam : 
The land of vision it Avould seem, 
A still, an everlasting dream. 

In yon green-wood there is a walk. 
And in thai walk there is a wene. 

And in that wene there is a maike. 
That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane ; 
And down in yon green-wood he walks his 

lane. 

In that green wene, Kilmeny lay, 
Her bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay ; 
But the air was soft, and the silence deep, 
And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep ; 
Slie kend nae mair, nor opened her ee. 
Till waked by the hymns of a far conntrye. 

She 'wakened on a couch of the silk sao 
slim. 
All striped wi' the bars of tl;e rainbow's rim ; 
And lovely beings around wei-e rife, 
Who erst had travelled mortal life; 
And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer; 
" AVhat spirit has brought this mortal here ! " 

"Lang have I journeyed the world wide," 
A meek and reverend fere replied ; 
"Baith night and d;iy I have Avatched the 

fair 
Eident a tliousand years and mair. 
Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree, 
Wherever blooms femcnitye ; 
But sinless virgin, free of stain, 
In mind and body, fand I nane. 
Never, since the banquet of time, 
Found I a virgin in her prime, 



5?mS 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATIOX, 



Till late this bonny maiden I saw, 

As spotless as the morning snaw. 

Full twenty years she has lived as free 

As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye. 

I have brought her away frae the snares of 

men, 
That sin or death she jnay never ken." 

They clasped her -waist and her hands sae fair ; 
They kissed her cheek, and they kcmed her 

hair; 
And round came many a blooming fere, 
Saying, "Bonny Kilmeny, ye're welcome here; 
Women are fi'eed of the littand scorn ; 
Oh, blest be the day Kilmeny was born ! 
Now shall the land of the s])irits see, 
Now shall it ken, what a woman may be! 
Many a lang year in sorrow and pain. 
Many a hing year through the -world we Ve 

gane. 
Commissioned to watch fair womankind. 
For it 's they who nurice the immortal mind. 
We have watched their steps as the dawning 

shone, 
And deep in the green-wood walks alone ; 
By lily bower and silken bed 
The viewless tears have o'er them shed ; 
Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep. 
Or left the couch of love to weep. 
We have seen ! we have seen ! but the time 

must come, 
And the angels will weep at the day of doom ! 

"Oh, would the fairest of mortal kind 
Aye keep the holy truths in mind. 
That kindred spirits their motions see, 
Who watch their ways with anxious ee. 
And grieve for the guilt of humanitye ! 
Oh,sweet to heaven the maiden's prayer, 
And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair ! 
And dear to heaven the words of truth 
And the praise of virtue frae beauty's mouth ! 
And dear to the viewless forms of air, 
The minds that kythe as the body fair! 

'• O, bonny Kilmeny ! free frae stain. 
If ever you seek the world again — 
That world of sin, of sorrow and fear — 
Oh, tell of the joys that are waiting here ; 
And tell of the signs yon shall shortly see; 
Of the times that are now, and the times that 
shall be." — 



They lifted Kihneny, they led her away, 
And she walked in the light of a sunless day; 
The sky was a dome of crystal bright, 
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light; 
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow. 
And the flowers of everlasting blow. 
Then deep in the stream her body they laid, 
That her youth and beauty never might fade ; 
Ainl they smiled on heaven, -when they saw 

her lie 
In the stream of life that Avandered by. 
And she heard a song — she heard it sung. 
She kend not where; but sae sweetly it rung. 
It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn— 
"Oh! blest be the day Kilmeny was born! 
Now shall the land of the spirits see. 
Now shall it ken, what a woman may be ! 
The sun that shines on the world sae bright, 
A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light ; 
And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun, 
Like a gouden bow, or a beandess sun — 
Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair: 
And the angels shall miss them, travelling 

the air. 
But lang, lang after baith night and day, 
AVhen the sun and the world have dyed 

away, 
When the sinner has gane to his waesome 

doom, 
Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom ! "-- 

They bore her away, she wist not how. 
For she felt not arm nor rest below ; 
But so swift they wained her through tlie 

light, 
'Twas like the motion of sound or sight; 
They seemed to split the gales of air. 
And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. 
Unnumbered groves below them grew ; 
They came, they past, and backward flew, 
Like floods of blossoms gliding on, 
In moment seen, in moment gone. 
Oh, never vales to mortal view 
Appeared like those o'er which they flew 
That land to human spirits given. 
The lowermost vales of the storied heaven ; 
From whence they can view the world below, 
And heaven's blue gates with sapphires 

glow — ' 
More glory yet unmeet to know. 



KILMENY. 



They bore her far to a mountain green, 
To see what mortal never had seen ; 
And they seated her high on a purple sward, 
And bade her heed what she saw and heard, 
And note the changes the spirits wrought ; 
For now she lived in the land of thought. — 
She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies. 
But a crystal dome of a thousand dies; 
She looked, and she saw nae land aright, 
But an endless whirl of glory and light; 
And radiant beings went and came. 
Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame ; 
She hid her een frae the dazzling view; 
She looked again, and the scene was new. 

She saw a sun on a summer sky, 
And clouds of amber sailing by ; 
A lovely land beneath her lay, 
And that land had glens and mountains gray ; 
iVnd that land had valleys and hoary piles. 
And marled seas, and a thousand isles ; 
Its fields were speckled, its forests green. 
And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen. 
Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay 
The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray, 
Which heaved and trembled, and gently 

swung ; 
On every shore they seemed to be hung ; 
For there they w"ere seen on their downward 

plain 
A thousand times and a thousand again ; 
In winding lake and placid firth — 
Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of 

earth. 

Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve. 
For slie found her heart to that land did 

cleave ; 
She saw the corn Avave on the vale; 
She saw the deer run down the dale ; 
She saw ihe plaid and the broad claymore. 
And the brows that the badge of freedom 

bore ; 
And she thought she had seen the land be- 
fore. 

She saw a lady sit on a throne, 
The fairest that ever the sun shone on ! 
A lion licked her hand of milk. 
And she held hmi in a leish of silk, 



And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee. 
With a silver wand and melting ee — ■ • 
Her sovereign shield, till love stole in, 
And poisoned all the fount within. 

Then a gruff, untoward bedes-man came. 
And hundit the lion on his dame ; 
And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless ee. 
She dropped a tear, and left her knee ; 
And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled, 
Till the bonniest flower of the world lay 

dead ; 
A coflin was set on a distant plain, 
And she saw the red blood fall like rain. 
Then bonny Kilraeny's heart grew sair. 
And she turned away, and could look nae 
mair. 

Then the gruff, grim carle girned amain. 
And they trampled him down — but he rose 

again ; 
And he baited the lion to deeds of weir, 
Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom 

dear ; 
And, weening his head was danger-preef 
When croAvned with the rose and clover leaf, 
He growled at the carle, and chased liiu; 

away 
To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gray. 
He growled at the carle, and he gecked at 

heaven ; 
But his mark was set, and his arles given. 
Kilmeny a while her een withdrew ; 
She looked again, and the scene was new. 

She saw below her, fair unfurled, 
One half of all the glowing world, 
Where oceans rolled and rivers ran^ 
To bound the aims of sinful man. 
She saw a people fierce and fell. 
Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell ; 
There lilies grew, and the eagle flew ; 
And she herked on her ravening crew, 
Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a 

blaze, 
And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and 

the seas. 
The widows they wailed, and the red blood 

ran, 
And she threatened an end to the race of 

man. 



540 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



She never lened, nor stood in awe, ' 

Tm caiiglit by the lion's deadly paw. 

Oh! then the eagle swinked for life, 

And brainzelled np a mortal strife ; 

But Hew she north, or flew she s ontli. 

She met wi' the growl of the lion's month. 

AVith a mooted wing and waefu' maen, 
The eagle songht her eiry again ; 
But lang may she cower in her bloody nest, 
And lang, lang sleek her wour:ded breast, 
Before she sey another flight. 
To play wi' the norland lion's miglit. 

But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw. 
So far surpassing nature's law, 
The singer's voice wad sink away. 
And the string of his harp wad cease to play. 
But she saw till the sorrows of man were by. 
And all was love and harmony ; 
Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away, 
Like the flakes of snaw on a winter's day. 

Then Kilmeny begged again to see 
The friends she had left in her own countrye, 
To tell of the place where slie had been. 
And the glories that lay in the land unseen ; 
To warn the living maidens fair. 
The loved of heaven, the spirits' care. 
That all whose minds unmeled remain 
Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. 

"With distant music, soft and deep, 
They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep ; 
And when she awakened, she lay her lane. 
All hajjped with flowers in the green-wood 

wene. 
When seven long years had come and fled ; 
"When grief was calm, and hope was dead ; 
"When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's 

name, 
Late, late in a gloamin, Kilmeny came liame! 
And oh, her beauty was fixir to see. 
But still and steadfast was her ee! 
Such beauty bard may never declare. 
For there was no pride nor passion there ; 
And the soft desire of maidens' een. 
In that mild face could never be seen. 
Her seymar was the lily flower, 
A.nd lier cheek the moss-rose in the shower ; 



And her voice like the distant melodye 
That floats along the twilight sea. 
But she loved to raike the lanely glen. 
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men ; 
Iler holy hymns unheard to sing, 
To suck the flowers and drink the spring. 
But wherever her peaceful form appeared, 
Tlie wild beasts of the hills were cheered; 
Tlie wolf played blythely round the field. 
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled ; 
The dun deer wooed with manner bland, 
And cowered aneath her lily hand. 
And when at even the woodlands rung, 
"W'hen hymns of other worlds she sung 
In ecstasy of sweet devotion. 
Oh, then the glen was all in nu)tion ! 
The wild beasts of the forest came. 
Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame, 
And goved around, charmed and amazed ; 
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed. 
And murmured and looked with anxious paiu, 
For something the mystery to exi)lain. 
The buzzard came with tlie throstle-cock. 
The corby left her houf in the rock ; 
The black-bird alang wi' tlie eagle flew; 
The hind came tripping o'er the devv^ ; 
The wolf and the kid their raike began ; 
And the tod, and the lamb, and tlie leveret 

ran ; 
The hawk and the hern attonr them hung, 
And the merl and the niiivis forhooyed their 

young ; 
And all in a peaceful ring were liurled: 
It was like an eve in a sinless world ! 

When a month and day had come and 
gane, 
Kilmeny songht the green-wood wene; 
There laid her down on the leaves sae green, 
And Kilmeny on earth was never nuiir seen. 
But oh, the words that full from her mouth, 
Were words of wonder, and words of truth 1 
But all the land were in fear and dread, 
For they kend na whether she was living or 

dead. 
It wasna her hame, and she couldna re- 
main ; 
She left this world of sorrow ar.d pain. 
And returned to the land of thought again. 

James IIogo. 



THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW. 



54] 



TUE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON" LOW. 

A MIDSUiniEPv LECtEXD. 

"And where have you been, my Mary, 
And Aviiere have you been from me ? " 

"I've been to the top of the Oaklon Low, 
The midsuinmer-night to see ! " 

"And what did yon see, my Mary, 

All up on the Caldon Low ? " 
"I saw the glad sunshine come down, 

And I saw tlie merry winds blow." 

"And wliat did yon hear, my Mary, 

All up on the Caldon hill?" 
" I heard the drops of the water made. 

And the ears of the green corn till." 

" Oh ! tell mc all, mj-^ary— 

All, all that ever you know ; 
For you must have seen the fairies. 

Last night on the Caldon Low." 

" Then take me on your knee, mother ; 

And listen, mother of mine: 
A hundred fairies danced last night, 

And the harpers they were nine; 

" And their harp-strings rung so merrily 
To their dancing feet so small ; 

But oh! the words of their talking 
Were merrier far than all." 

"And what were the words, my Mary, 
That then you heard them say ? " 

" I '11 tell you all, my mother ; 
But let me have my way. 

"Some of them played with the water. 

And rolled it down the hill; 
And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn 
The poor old miller's mill; 

" ' For there has been no water 

Ever since the first of May ; 
And a busy man will the miller be 

At dawning of tlie dav. 



" ' Oh ! the miller, how he will laugh 

When he sees the mill-dam rise ! 
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh 

Till the tears fill both his eyes ! ' 

" And some they seized the little winds 

That sounded over the hill ; 
And each put a horn unto his mouth, 

And blew both loud and shrill; 

" ' And there,' they said, ' the merry winda 
go 

Away from every horn ; 
And they shall clear the mildew dank 

From the blind, old widow's corn. 

"'Oh! the poor, blind widow, 

Though she has been blind so long. 
She '11 be blithe enough when the mildew 's 

gone, 
And the corn stands tall and strong.' 

'•And some they brought the brown lint- 
seed, 

And tlung it down from the Low ; 
'And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise, 

In the weaver's croft shall grow. 

" ' Oh ! the poor, lame weaver. 

How will he laugh outright 
When he sees his dwindling flax-field 

All lull of flowers by night ! ' 

"And then outspoke a brownie. 
With a long beard on his chin ; 

' I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 
' And I want some more to spin. 

" 'I 've spun a piece of hempen cloth, 

And I want to spin another ; 
A little sheet for Mary's bed, 

And an apron for her mother, 

"With that I could not help but laugh. 
And I laughed out loud and free ; 

And then on the top of the Caldon Low 
Tiiere was no one left but me. 

"And all on the top of the Caldon Low 
The mists were cold and gray. 

And nothing I saw but the mossy stones 
That round about me lay. 



542 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



"But, coming down from the liill-top, 

I heard afar below, 
How busy the jolly miller was. 

And how the wheel did go. 

"And I peeped into the widow's field, 
And, sure enough, were seen 

The yellow ears of the mildewed corn. 
All standing stout and green. 

" And down by the weaver's croft I stole, 
To see if the flax were sprung ; 

And I met the weaver at his gate, 
With the good ne\\'s on his tongue. 

" Now this is all I heard, mother, 

And all that I did see ; 
So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother, 

For I 'm tired as I can be." 

5IAKY IIOWITT. 



on ! T7IIERE 1)0 FAIRIES HIDE THEIR 
HEADS ? 

Oh ! where do fairies hide their heads, 

When snow lies on the hills — 
"When frost has spoiled their mossy beds. 

And crystallized their rills ? 
Beneath the moon they cannot trip 

In circles o'er the plain ; 
And draughts of dew they cannot sip, 

Till green leaves come again. 

Perhaps, in small, blue diving-bells, 

They plunge beneath the waves. 
Inhabiting the wreathed shells 

That lie in coral caves. 
Perhaps, in red Vesuvius, 

Carousals they maintain ; 
And cheer their little spirits thus. 

Till green leaves come again. 

When they return there will be mirth, 

And music in the air. 
And fairy wings upon the earth, 

And mischief every where. 
The maids, to keep the elves aloof. 

Will bar the doors in vain : 
No key-hole will be fairy-proof, 

When green leaves come again. 

Thomas IIatnes Bayly. 



THE CULPRIT FAY. 

"My visual orbs arc purgc<I froiK film, and, lo I 
Instead of Anstor's turnip-b;^aring vales, 

I see old fairy land's tniraculous show 1 
Her trees of tinsel kissed by freakish gales, 

Her ouplis that, cloaked in leaf-gold, skim the brcczo. 

And fairies, swarming ." 

Tf.nnants Anstek Fair. 



'T IS the middle watch of a summer's night — 
The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright ; 
Naught is seen in the vault on high 
But the moon, and the stars, and the cloud- 
less sky, 
And the ilood which volh its milky hue, 
A river of light on the welkin blue. 
The moon looks down en old Cronest ; 
She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, 
And seems his huge gray form to throw 
In a silver cone on the wave below ; 
Ilis sides are broken by spots of shade. 
By the walnut bough and the cedar made, 
And througli their clnstering branches dark 
Glinmiers and dies the fire-fly's spark — 
Like starry twinkles that momently break 
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's 
rack. 

II. 
The stars are on the moving stream, 

And fling, as its ripples gently flow, 
A burnished length of wavy beam 

In an eel-like, spiral line below ; 
The winds are whist, and the owl is still ; 

The bat in the shelvy rock is hid ; 
And nought is heard on the lonely hill 
But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill 

Of the gauze-winged katy-did ; 
And the plaint of the wailing Avhip-poor-will, 

AVho moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, 
Ever a note of wail and woe, 

Till morning spreads her rosy wings. 
And earth and sk}' in her glances glow. 



'T is the hour of fairy ban and spell : 
The wood-tick has kept the minutes well ; 
He has counted them all with click and stroke 
Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak, 
And he has awakened the sentry elve 

Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, 



THE CULPRIT FAY 



To bid him ring the hour of twelve, 
And call the fays to their revelry ; 
Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell — 
('T was made of tlie white snail's pearly 

shell—) 
'•Midnight comes, and all is well ! 
Hither, hither, wing your way ! 
'T is the dawii of the fairy-day." 



They come from beds of lichen green, 
They creep from the mullen's velvet screen ; 

Some on the backs of beetles fly 
From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, 

Where they swung in their cobweb ham- 
mocks high. 
And rocked about in the evening breeze ; 

Some from the hum-bird's downy nest — 
They had driven him out by elfin power. 

And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow 
breast, 
Had slumbered there till the charmed hour; 

Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, 
With glittering ising-stars inlaid ; 

And some had opened the four-o'clock. 
And stole within its purple shade. 

And now they throng the moonlight glade, 
Above — below — on every side, 

Their little minim forms arrayed 
In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride ! 



They come not now to print the lea, 

In freak and dance around the tree. 

Or at the mushroom board to sup. 

And drink the dew from the buttercup ; — 

A scene of sorrow waits them now. 

For an ouphe has broken his vestal vow ; 

lie has loved an earthly maid. 

And left for her his woodland shade ; 

lie has lain upon her lip of dew. 

And sunned him in her eye of blue. 

Fanned her cheek with his wing of air, 

Played in the ringlets of her hair. 

And, nestling on her snowy breast. 

Forgot the lily-king's behest. 

For this the shadowy tribes of air 

To the elfin court must haste away :— 
And now tliey stand expectant there, 

To hear the doom of the culprit fay. 



The tlirone was reared upon the grass, 
Of spice-wood and of sassafras; 
On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell 

Hung the burnished canopy — 
And o'er it gorgeous curtains fell 

Of the tulip's crimson drapery. 
The monarch sat on his judgment-seat. 

On his brow the crown imperial shone. 
The prisoner fay was at his feet. 

And his peers Avere ranged around tbo 
throne. 
He waved his sceptre in the air, 

lie looked around and calmly spoke ; 
His brow was grave and his eye severe, 

But his voice in a softened accent broke : 



"Fairy! fairy! list and mark : 

Thou hast broke thine elfin chain ; • 
Thy tlame - wood lamp is quenched and 
dark, 

And thy wings are dyed with a de:'d!y 
stain — 
Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity 

In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye; 
Thou hast scorned our dread decree. 

And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high. 
But well I know her sinless mind 

Is pure as the angel forms above. 
Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind, 

Such as a spirit well might love ; 
Fairy! had she spot or taint, 
Bitter had been thy punishment: 
Tied to the hornet's shardy wings ; 
Tossed on the pricks of nettles' stings ; 
Or seven long ages doomed to dwell 
With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell ; 
Or every night to writhe and bleed 
Beneath the tread of the centipede ; 
Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim. 
Your jailer a spider, huge and grim, 
Amid the carrion bodies to lie 
Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered 

iiy: 

These it had been your lot to bear. 
Had a stain been found on the earthly fair. 
Now list, and mark our mild decree — 
Fairy, this your doom must be : 



— I 



544 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



" Thou slialt seek the bCcach of sand 
Wliere the water bounds the elfin land ; 
Thou shalt watch the oozy brine 
Till tlie sturgeon leaps iu the bright moon- 
shine, 
Then dart the glistening arch below, 
And catch a drop from his silver bow. 
The water-sprites will wield their arms 

And dash around, with roar and rave, 
And vain are the woodland spirits' charms ; 

They are the imps that rule the wave. 
Yet trust thee in thy single might : 
If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right. 
Thou shalt win the warlock fi^ht. 



" If the spray-bead gem be won. 
The stain of thy wing is washed away; 

But another errand must be done 
Ere thy crime be lost for aye : 

Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, 

Thou must reillume its spark. 

Mount thy steed and spur him high 

To the heaven's blue canopy ; 

And when thou seest a shooting star. 

Follow it fast, and follow it far — 

The last faint spark of its burning train 

Shall light the elfin lamp again. 

Thou hast heard our sentence, fay ; 

Hence ! to the water-side, away ! " 



The goblin marked his monarch well ; 

He spake not, but he bowed him low. 
Then plucked a ci'imson colen-bell. 

And turned him round in act to go. 
The way is long, he cannot fly, 

Ilis soiled wing has lost its power, 
And he winds adown the mountain high. 

For many a sore and weary hour. 
Through dreary beds of tangled fern. 
Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, 
Over the grass and through the brake. 
Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake ; 

Now o'er the violet's azure flush 
He skips along in lightsome mood ; 

And now he thrids the bramble-bush. 
Till its points are dyed in fairy blood. 



He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the 

bncr. 
He has swum the brook, and w^aded the mire. 
Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak. 
And the red waxed fainter in his cheek. 
He had fallen to the ground outright, 

For rugged and dim was his onward track, 
Hut there came a spotted toad in sight. 

And he laughed as he jumped upon her 
back ; 
He bridled her mouth with a silkAveed twist, 

He lashed her sides with an osier thong ; 
And now, through evening's dewy mist, 

With leap and spring they bound along, 
Till the mountain's magic verge is past. 
And the beach of sand is reached at last. 



Soft and pale is the moony beam, 
Moveless still the glassy stream ; 
The wave is clear, the beach is bright 

AVith snowy shells and sparkling stones ; 
The shore-surge comes in ripples light, 

In murmurings faint and distant moans ; 
And ever afar in the silence deep 
Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap. 
And the bend of his graceful bow is seen— 
A glittering arch of silver sheen. 
Spanning the wave of burnished blue, 
And drippir.g with gems of the river-dew. 



The elfln cast a glance around, 

As he lighted down from his courser toad , 
Then round his breast his wings he wound. 

And close to the river's brink he strode ; 
He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, 

Above his head his arms he thi'ew. 
Then tossed a tiny curve in air. 

And headlong plunged in the waters blue. 



Up sprung the spirits of the waves, 
From the sea-silk beds in their coral caves ; 
With snail-plate armor snatched in haste. 
They speed their Avay througli the liquid 

waste ; 
Some are rapidly borne along 
On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong ; 



THE CULPRIT FAY 



5i5 



Borne on the blood-red leeches glide, 
Some on the stony star-fish ride, 
Some on the back of the lancing squab, 
Some on the sideling soldier-crab ; 
And some on the jellied quarl, that flings 
At once a thousand streamy stings ; 
They cut the wave with the living oar. 
And hurry on to the moonlight shore, 
To guard their realms and chase away 
The footsteps of the invading fay. 



Fearlessly he skims along, 
His hope is high, and his limbs are strong; 
He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing, 
And throws his feet with a frog-like fling ; 
His locks of gold on the waters shine, 

At his breast the tiny foam-bees rise, 
His back gleams bright above the brine. 

And the wake-line foam behind him lies. 
But the water-sprites are gathering near 

To check his course along the tide ; 
Their warriors come in swift career 

And hem him round on every side ; 
On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold, 
The quarl's long arms are round him rolled, 
The prickly prong has pierced his skin, 
And the squab has thrown his javelin ; 
The gritty star has rubbed him raw, 
And the ci-ab has struck with his giant claw ; 
He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain; 
He strikes around, but his blows are vain ; 
Hopelei^s is the unequal fight, 
Fairv! naught is left but flight. 



He turned him round, and fled amain 
With hurry and dash to the beach again ; 
He twisted over from side to side. 
And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide; 
The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet. 
And with all his might he flings his feet. 
But the water-sprites are round him still, 
To cross his patli and work him ill. 
They bade the wave before him rise ; ■ 
They flung the sea-fire in his eyes ; 
And tliey stunned his ears with the scallop- 
stroke. 
With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish 

croak, 

13 



Oh! but a weary wight was he 

When he reached the foot of the dogwood 
tree. 

— Gashed and wounded, and stifi" and sore. 

He laid him down on the sandy shore ; 

He blessed the force of the charmed line, 
And he banned the water-goblin's spite, 

For he saw around in the sweet moonshine 

Their little wee faces above the brine, 

Giggling and laughing with all their might 
At the piteous hap of the fairy wight. 



Soon he gathered the balsam dew 

From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud ; 
Over each wound the balm he drcAV, 

And with cobv.'eb lint he stanched the 
blood. 
The mild west wind Avas soft and low, 
It cooled the heat of his burning brow; 
And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, 
As he drank the juice of the calamus root ; 
And now he treads the fiital shore, 
As fresh and vigorous as before. 



Wrapped in musing stands the sprite : 
'T is the middle wane of night ; 

His task is hard, his way is far, 
But he must do his errand right 

Ere dawning mounts her beamy car. 
And rolls her chariot wheels of light ; 
And vain are the spells of fairy-land — 
He must work with a human hand. 



He cast a saddened look around ; 

But he felt new joy his bosom swell, 
When, glittering on the shadowed ground, 

He saw a purple muscle-sliell ; 
Thither he ran, and he bent him low, 
He heaved at tlie stern and he heaved at the 

bow, 
And he pushed her over the yielding sand, 
Till he came to the verge of the haunted lancL 
She was as lovely a pleasure-boat 

As ever fairy had paddled in, 
For she glowed with purple paint without, 

And slione with silvery pearl Avithin ; 



I 



546 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



A sculler's iiotcli in tlie stern he made, 
An oar he shaped of the bootle blade ; 
Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap^ 
And launched afar on the calm, blue deep. 



Tlie imps of the river yell and rave ; 
They had no power above the wave ; 
But they heaved the billow before the prow, 

And they dashed the surge against her side, 
And they struck her keel with jerk and blow. 

Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide. 
She- whimpled about to the pale moonbeam, 
Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed 

stream ; 
And momently athwart her track 
The quarl upreared his island back, 
And the fluttering scallop behind would float, 
And patter the Avater about the boat ; 
But he bailed her out with his colen-bell. 

And he kept her trimmed with a wary 
tread. 
While on every side like lightning fell 

The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade. 



Onward still he held his way, 

Till he came Avhere the column of moonshine 

lay, 
And saw beneath the surface dim 
The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim ; 
Around him were the goblin train — 
But he sculled with all his might and main. 
And followed wherever the sturgeon led. 
Till he saw him upward point his head ; 
Then he dropped his paddle-blade, 
And held his colen-goblet up 
To catch the drop in its crimson cup. 



With sweeping tail and quivering fin 

Through the Avave the sturgeon flew, 
/\nd, like the heaven-shot javelin, 

lie sprung above the waters blue, 
instant as the star-fall light. 

He plunged him in the deep again, 
But lie left an arch of silver bright. 

The rainbow of the moony main. 
It was a strange and lovely sight 

To see the puny goblin there ; 



lie seemed an angel form of light, 
With azure wing and sunny hair, 
Tlironed on a cloud of purple fair, 

Circled with blue and edged Avith Avniie, 

And sitting at the fall of even 

Beneath the bow of summer heaven. 

XSII. 

A moment, and its lustre fell ; 

But ere it met the billow blue, 
He cauglit within his crimson bell 

A droplet of its sparkling dcAA' — 
Joy to thee, fay ! thy task is done, 
Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won- 
Cheerly ply thy dripping oar, 
And haste aAvay to the elfin shore. 



lie turns, and, lo ! on either side 

The ripples on his path divide ; 

And the track o'er Avhich his boat must pass 

Is smooth as a sheet of polished glass. 

Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave, 

With snowy arms half-swelling out. 
While on the glossed and gleamy Avave 

Their sea-green ringlets loosely float ; 
They swim around Avith smile and Bong; 

They press the bark Avith pearly hand, 
And gently urge her course along, 

ToAvard the beach of speckled sand ; 

And, as he lightly leaped to land, 
They bade adieu with nod and boAv ; 

Then gayly kissed each little hand, 
And dropped in the crystal deep below. 



A moment stayed the fairy there ; 
He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer; 
Then spread his wings of gilded blue. 
And on to the elfin court he fleAv ; 
As ever ye saw a bubble rise. 
And shine with a thousand changing dyes, 
Till, lessening far, through ether driven, 
It mingles Avith the hues of heaven ; 
As, at the glimpse of morning pale, 
The lance-fly spreads his silken sail, 
And gleams with blendings soft and bright, 
Till lost in the shades of fading night : 
So rose from earth the lovely fay — 
So vanished, far in heaven away ! 
***** 




THE CULPRIT FAY. 



547 



Up, fuiry ! quit thy chick-weed bower, 
The cricket has called the second hour : 
Twice again, and the lark will rise 
To kiss the streaking of the skies — 
Up ! thy charmed armor don, 
Thou 'It need it ere the night be gone. 



He put his acorn helmet on ; 

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down; 

The corslet plate that guarded his breast 

Was once the wild bee's golden vest ; 

His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes. 

Was formed of the wings of butterflies ; 

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, 

Studs of gold on a ground of green ; 

And the quivering lance which he brandished 

bright. 
Was the sting of a wasp lie had slain in fight. 
Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed; 

He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue ; 
Ee drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, 

And away like a glance of thought he flew, 
To skim the heavens, and follow far 
The flery trail of the rocket-staj*. 



The moth-fly, as he shot in air. 

Crept under the leaf, and hid her there ; 

The katy-did forgot its lay, 

The prowling gnat fled fast away. 

The fell mosquito checked his drone 

And folded his wings till the fay was gone, 

And the wily beetle dropped his head. 

And fell on the ground as if he were dead ; 

They crouched them close in the darksome 

shade, 
They quaked all o'er with awe and fear, 
For they had felt the blue-bent blade. 

And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear; 
Many a time, on a summer's night, 
When the sky was clear, and the inoon was 

bright. 
They had been roused from the haunted 

ground 
3y the yelp and bay of the fairy hound ; 

They had heard the tiny bugle-horn. 
They had heard the twang of the maize-silk 

string, 
Wlien the vine-twig bows wci-e tightly 

drawn, 



And the needle-shaft through air was 
borne. 
Feathered Avith down of the hum-bird's 

wing. 
And now they deemed the courier ouphe. 
Some hunter-sprite of the elfin gi-ound ; 
And they watched till they saw him mount 
the roof 
That canopies the world around ; 
Then glad they left their covert lair, 
And freaked about in the midnight air. 



Up to the vaulted firmament 

His path the fire-fly courser bent. 

And at every gallop on the wind, 

He flung a glittering spark behind; 

He flies like a feather in the blast 

Till the first light cloud in heaven is past. 

But the shapes of air have begun their 
work. 
And a drizzly mist is round him cast ; 

He cannot see through the mantle murk ; 
He shivers with cold, but he urges fast ; 

Through storm and darkness, sleet and 
shade, 
He lashes his steed, and spurs amain — 
For shadowy hands have twitched the rein, 

And flarne-shot tongues around him played, 
And near him many a fiendish eye 
Glared with a fell malignity, 
And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear, 
Came screaming on his startled ear. 



His wings are wet around his breast, 
The plume hangs dripping from his crest. 
His eyes are blurred with the lightning's 

glare. 
And his ears are stunned with the thunder's 

blare • 
But he gave a shout, and his bhide he drew, 

He thrust before and he struck behind, 
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through, 

And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind : 
Howling the misty spectres flew. 

They rend the air with frightful cries ; 
For he has gained the welkin blue. 

And the land of clouds beneath him lies. 



POEMS or THE IMAGINATION 



SXIX. 

Up to the cope careering swift, 

In breathless motion fast, 
Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift, 

Or tlie sea-roc rides the blast, 
Tl:e sapphire sheet of eve is shot, 

The sphered moon is past. 
The earth but seems a tiny blot 

On a sheet of azure cast. 
Oh! it was sweet, in the clear moonlight, 

To tread the starry plain of even ! 
To meet the thousand eyes of night, ■ 

And feel the cooling breath of heaven! 
But the elfin made no stop or stay 
Till he came to the bank of the milky-way ; 
Then he checked his courser's foot, 
And watched for the glimpse of the planet- 
shoot. 

xxs. 

Sudden along the snowy tide 

That swelled to meet their footsteps' fall. 
The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide, 

Attired in sunset's crimson pall ; 
Around the fay they weave the dance. 

They skip before him on the plain. 
And one has taken his wasp-sting lance. 

And one upholds his bridle-rein ; 
With warblings wild they lead him on 

To where, through clouds of amber seen, 
Studded with stars, resplendent shone 

The palace of the sylphid queen. 
Its spiral columns, gleaming bright, 
Were streamers of the noi-thern light ; 
Its curtain's light and lovely flush 
Was of the morning's rosy blush ; 
And the ceiling fair that rose aboon, 
The white and feathery fleece of noon. 

XXSI. 

But, oh! how fair the shape that lay 

Beneath a rainbow bending bright: 
She seemed to the entranced fay 

The loveliest of the forms of light ; 
Her mantle was the purple rolled 

At twilight in the west afar; 
'T was tied with threads of dawning gold. 

And buttoned with a sparkling star. 
Her face was like the lily roon 

That veils the vestal planet's hue; 
Her eyes, two beamlets from the moon. 

Set floating in the welkin blue. 



Her hair is like the sunny beam. 

And the diamond gems which round it gleam 

Ai-e the pure drops of dewy even 

That ne'er have left their native heaven. 

XXXII. 

She raised her eyes to the wondering sprite, 

And they leaped with smiles; for well 1 
ween 
ISTever before in the bowers of light 

Had the form of an earthly fay been seen. 
Long she looked in his tiny face ; 

Long with his butterfly cloak she played ; 
She smoothed his wings of azure lace. 

And handled the tassel of his blade ; 
And as he told, in accents low. 
The story of his love and woe, 
She felt new pains in her bosom rise. 
And the tear-drop started in her eyes. 
And " O, sweet spirit of earth," she cried, 

" Eeturn no more to your woodland height, 
But ever here with me abide 

In the land of everlasting light ! 
Within the fleecy drift we '11 lie, 

We '11 hang upon the rainbow's rim; 
And all the jewels of the sky 

Around thy brow shall brightly beam! 
And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream 

That rolls its whitening foam aboon, 
And ride ujjon the lightning's gleam, 

And dance upon the orbed moon ! 
We '11 sit within the Pleiad ring, 

We '11 rest on Orion's starry belt, 
And I will bid my syljjhs to sing 

The song that makes the dew-mist melt ; 
Their harps are of tlie nmber shade 

That hides the blush of waking day. 
And every gleamy string is made 

Of silvery moonshine's lengthened ray; 
And thou shalt pillow on my breast. 

While heavenly breathings float around, 
And, with the sylphs of ether blest, 

Forget the joys of fairy ground." 

XXXIII. 

She was lovely and fair to see 
And the elfin's heart beat fitfully ; 
But lovelier far, and still more fair, 
The earthly form im])rinted there ; 
Naught he saw in the heavens above 
Was half so dear as his mortal love, 



THE CULPRIT FAY. 



543 



For lie tlioiight upon her looks so meek, 
And he thought of the light flush on her 

cheek ; 
Never again might he bask and lie 
On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye ; 
But in his dreams her form to see, 
To clasp her in his re very. 
To think upon his virgin bride, 
Was Avortli all heaven, and earth beside. 

XXXIV. ■ 

"Lady," he cried, "I have sworn to-night. 

On the word of a fairy-knight, 

To do my sentence-task aright ; 

My honor scarce is free from stain — 

I may not soil its snows again ; 

Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

Its mandate must be answered now." 

Her bosom heaved with many a sigh, 

The tear was in her drooping eye ; 

But she led him to the palace gate, 

And called the sylphs who hovered there, 
And bade them fly and bring him straight. 

Of clouds condensed, a sable car. 
With charm and spell she blessed it there. 
From all the fiends of upper air ; 
Then round him cast the shadowy shroud, 
And tied his steed behind the cloud ; 
And pressed his hand as she bade him fly 
Far to the verge of the northern sky. 
For by its wane and wavering light 
There was a star would full to-nicht. 



Borne afar on the wings of the blast, 
Northward away, he speeds him fast, 
And his courser follows the cloudy w-ain 
Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain. 
The clouds roll backward as he flies, 
Each flickering star behind him lies, 
And he has reached the northern plain, 
And backed his fire-fly steed again, 
Ready to follow in its flight 
The streaming of the rocket-light. 

XXXVI. 

The star is yet in the vault of heaven, 
But it rocks in the summer gale ; 

And now 't is fitful and uneven, 
And now 't is deadly pale ; 



And now 'tis wrapped in sulphur-smoke, 

And quenched is its rayless beam ; 
And now with a rattling thunder-stroke 

It bursts in flash and flame. 
As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance 

That the storm-spirit flings from high, 
The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue, 

As it fell from the sheeted sky. 
As swift as the wind in its train behind 

The elfin gallops along : 
The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud, 

But the sylphid charm is strong ; 
He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire, 

While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze ; 
He watches each fiake till its sparks expire. 

And rides in the light of its rays. 
But he drove his steed to the lightning's 
speed. 

And caught a glimmering spark ; 
Then wheeled around to the fairy ground, 

And sped through the midnight dark. 



Ouphe and goblin ! imp and sprite ! 

Elf of eve ! and starry fay ! •' 
Ye that love the moon's soft light. 

Hither — hither wend your -way ; 
Twine ye in a jocund ring, 

Sing and trip it merrilj^. 
Hand to hand, and wing to wing, 

Eound the wild witch-hazel tree. 



Hail the wanderer again 

With dance and song, and lute and lyre ; 
Pure his wing and strong his chain, 

And doubly bright his fairy fire. 
Twine ye in an airy round. 

Brush the dew and print the lea ; 
Skip and gambol, hop and bound, 

Eound the wild witcli-hazel tree. 



The beetle guards our holy ground, 

He flies about the haunted place. 
And if mortal there be found. 

He hums in his ears and flaps his face ; 
The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay. 

The owlet's eyes our lanterns be ; 
Thus we sing, and dance, and play. 

Round the wild witch-hazel tree. 



550 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



But, hark ! from lower on tree-top liigli. 

The sentry-elf li is call has made; 
A streak is in the eastern sky, 

Shapes of moonlight ! flit and fade ! 
The hill-tops gleam in morning's spring, 
The sky-lark shakes his dappled wing, 
The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn, 
'■"he cock has crowed, and the fays are gone. 
Joseph Eodman Drake. 



THE FAIEIES. 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen. 
We dare n't go a hunting 

For fear of little men ; 
"Wee folk, good folk, 

Trooping all together ; 
Green jacket, red cap. 

And white owl's feather ! 

Down along tlie rocky shore 

Some make their home — 
They live on crispy pancakes 

Of yellow tide-foam ; 
Some in the reeds 

Of the black mountain-lake, 
With frogs for their Avatch-dogs, 

All night awake. 

High on the hill-top 

The old king sits ; 
He is now so old and gray 

He's nigh lost his wits. 
With a bridge of white mist 

Columbkill he crosses. 
On his stately journeys 

From Slieveleague to Eosses ; 
Or going up with music 

On cold, starry nights, 
To sup with the queen 

Of the gay Northern Liglits. 

They stole little Bridget 
For seven years long ; 

When she came down again 
Her friends Avere all ffone. 



They took her lightly back, 

Between the night and morrow ; 
They thouglit that she was fast asleep, 

But she was dead with sorrow. 
They have kept her ever since 

Deep within the lakes, 
On a bed of flag-leaves. 

Watching till she wakes. 

By the craggy hill-side. 

Through the mosses bare, 
They have planted thorn-trees 

For pleasure here and there. 
Is any man so daring 

To dig one up in spite, 
He shall find the thornies set 

In his bed at night. 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen. 
We dare n't go a hunting 

For fear of little men ; 
Wee folk, good folk. 

Trooping all together; 
Green jacket, red cap. 

And white owl's feather ! 

William Allinguam. 



THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL. 

Fakewell rewards and fairies ! 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now foule shits in dairies 

Doe fare as well as they ; 
And though they sweepe their hearths no 
less 

Than mayds were Avont to doe, 
Yet who of late for cleaneliness 

Finds sixe-pence in lijier shoe ? 

Lament, lament, old abbeys, 

The fairies' lost command ! 
They did but change priests' babies. 

But some have changed your land ; 
And all your children, stoln from thence, 

Are now growne Puritanes, 
Who live as changelings ever since, 

For love of your demaines. 



THE GREEN GNOME. 



At morning and at evening both 

You merry were and glad ; 
So little care of sleepe and sloth 

These prettie ladies had. 
When Tom came home from labor, 

Or Ciss to milking rose, 
Then merrily went their tabour. 

And nimbly went their toes. 

AYitness, tliose rings and roundelayes 

Of theirs, which yet remaine, 
Were footed in Queen Marie's dayes 

On many a grassy jjlayne. 
But since of late Elizabetli, 

And later James, came in 
They never danced on any heath 

As when the time hatli bin. 

By wbich wee note the fairies 

Were of the old profession ; 
Their songs were Ave-lfaries, 

Their dances were procession. 
But, now, alas ! they all are dead, 

Or gone beyond the seas. 
Or farther for religion fled ; 

Or else they take their ease. 

A tell-tale in their company 

Thoy never could endure ; 
And whoso kept not secretly 

Their mirth, was punished sare ; 
It was a just and Christian deed 

To pinch such blacke and blue : 
Oh how the commonwelth doth need 

Such justices as you ! 

Now they have left our quarters, 

A register they have, 
Who can preserve their cliarters — 

A man both wise and grave. 
An liundred of their merry pranks, 

By one that I could name, 
Are kept in store ; con twenty thanks 

To William for the same. 

To William Churnc of Staflordshire 

Give laud and praises due. 
Who, every meale, can mend your cheare 

With tales both old and true ; 
To William all give audience, 

And pray yee for his noddle ; 
For all the fairies' evidence 

Were lost if it were addle. 

ElCnAED CORBETT. 



THE GEEEJT GNOME. 

A MELODY. 

EiNa, sing ! ring, sing ! pleosant Sabbath bells ! 
Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! thorough dales 

and dells ! 
Rbyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath 

bells! 
Chime, sing ! rhyme, ring ! over fields and 

fells! 

And I galloped and I galloped on my palfrey 

white as milk, 
My robe was of the sea-green woof, my serk 

was of the silk ; 
My hair was golden yellow, and it floated to 

my shoe. 
My eyes were like two harebells bathed in 

little drops of dew ; 
My palfrey, never stopping, made a music 

sweetly blent 
With the leaves of anturan dropping all around 

me as I went ; 
And I heard the bells, grown faintei', flu- be- 
hind me peal and play. 
Fainter, fainter, fointer, till they seemed to 

die away ; 
And beside a silver runnel, on a little heap 

of sand, 
I savr the green gnome sitting, with his cheek 

upon Ills hand. 
Then he started up to see me, and he ran with 

cry and bound. 
And drew me from my palfrey white and set 

me on the ground. 
Oh crimson, crimson were his locks, his face 

was green to see, 
But he cried, " O light-haired lassie, you are 

bound to marry me ! " 
lie clasped me round the middle sm-all, he 

kissed me on the clieek. 
He kissed me once, he kissed me twice — I 

could not stir or speak ; 
He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice — but 

when he kissed again, 
I called aloud upon the name of Ilim who 

died for men. 

Sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells ! 
Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales 

and dells ! 



J 



r 



552 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Eliymo, ring! cliime, sing! pleasant Sabbath 

bells ! 
Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and 

fells ! 

Oh faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and 

maids to pray, 
So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells far 

away ; 
And as I named the Blessed JSTarae, as in our 

need we can, 
The ngly green green gnome became a tall 

and comely man : 
Ilis hands were wliite, his beard was gold, his 

eyes were black as sloes, 
His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were 

his hose ; 
A pensive light from Faeryland still lingered 

on his check, 
Ilis voice was like the running brook, when 

he began to speak : 
'■ Oh you have cast away the charm my step- 
dame put on me. 
Seven years I dwelt in Faeryland, and you 

have set me free. 
Oil I will mount thy palfrey white, and ride 

to kirk with thee. 
And by those little dewy eyes, we twain will 

wedded be! " 

Back vre galloped, never stopping, he before 

and I behind. 
And the autumn leaves Avere dropping, red 

and yellow, in the wind ; 
And the sun was shining clearer, and my 

heart was high and proud. 
As nearer, neai'cr, nearer, rang the kirk bells 

sweet and loud, 
And we saw the kirk before us, as we trotted 

down the fells. 
And nearer, clearer, o'er us, rang the welcome 

of the bells. 

Ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! 
Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales 

and dells ! 
Ehyme, ring ! chime, sing ! pleasant Sabbath 

bells ! 
Chime, sing ! rhyme, ring ! over fields and 

fells! 

EOBEKT BUCUANAN. 



ARIEL'S SOXGS. 



Come unto these yellow sands, 

And then take hands ; 
Court'sied when, you have, and kissed, 

(The wild waves whist !) 
Foot it featly here and there ; 
And-, svreet sprites, the burden bear. 

Hark, hark ! 
Boicgh, woiogh. 

The watch-dogs bark — 
Boicgh, woicgh. 
Hark, hark ! I hear 
The strain of strutting chanticleer 
Cry Cock-a-doodle-doo. 



Full fathoms five thy father lies ; 
Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those ai"e pearls that were his eyes ; 
ISTothing of him doth fade 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 

Ding-dong. 
Hark ! now I hear them — ding, dong, bell ! 



"Where the bee sucks there suck I ; 
In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 
There I couch v.'hen owls do cry; 
On the bat's back I do fly 
After summer merrily. 
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
Shakespeare. 



SOJ^G. 
IIeak, sweet spirit, hear tlie spell, 
Lest a blacker charm compel ! 
So shall the midnight breezes swell 
"With thy deep, long, lingering knell. 

And at evening evermore. 

In a chapel on the shore, 

Sliall the cbaunter, sad and saintly, 

Yellow tapers burning faintly. 

Doleful masses chaunt for thee — 

Miserere Domine! 



THE WATER FAY 



553 



Hark ! the cadence dies away 

On tlio quiet inoonliglit sea ; 

The boatmen rest their oars and say, 

Miserere Domine ! 

Samuei, Taylor Coiekidge. 



THE LORELEI. 

I KNOW not what it presages, 
This heart with sadness fraught : 

'T is a talc of the olden ages, 
That Avill not from my thought. 

Tlie ah* grows cool, and darkles ; 

The Iihine flows calmly on ; 
The mountain summit sparkles 

In the light of the setting sun. 

There sits, in soft reclining, 

A maiden wondrous fair, 
"With golden rai^ient shining, 

And combing her gulden hair. 

"With a comb of gold she combs it ; 

And combing, low singeth she — 
A song of a strange, sweet sadness, 

A wonderful melody. 

The sailor shudders, as o'er him. 
The strain comes floating by ; 

He sees not the clifts before him — 
He only looks on high. 

Ah ! round him the dark waves, flinging 

Their arms draw him dowly down — 
And tliis, with her wild, sweet singing, 
The Lorelei has done. 

Hesry Heine. (German.) 
Translation of CnuisTOPHEU Peause Crancu. 



THE WATER LADY. 



AtAS, that moon shonld ever beam 
To show wliat man should never see !- 
I saw a maiden on a stream, 
And fair was she ! 

II. 
I staid awhile, to see her throw 
Her tresses back, that all beset 
The foir horizon of her brow 
With clouds of jet. 
74 



I staid a little while to view 
Her cheek, that wore, in place of red, 
The bloom of Avater — tender blue, 
Daintily spread. 



lY. 



I staid to watch, a little space, 
Her parted lips, if she would sing ; 
The. waters closed above her face 
With many a ring. 



And stiU I staid a little more — 
Alas ! she never comes again ! 
I throw my flowers from the shore, 
And watch in vain. 



I know my life will fade away — 
I know that I must vainly pine ; 
For I am made of mortal clay, 
But she 's divine ! 

Thomas licou 



THE WATER FAY. 

The night comes stealing o'er me, 

And clouds are on the sea; 
While the wavelets rustle before nae 

With a m^'stical melody. 

A water-maid rose singing 

Before me, fair and pale ; 
And snow-white breasts were springing, 

Like fountains, 'neath her veil. 

She kissed me and she pressed me, 
Till I wished her arms away : 

" Why hast thou so caressed me, 
Thou lovely water fay ? " 

" Oh, thou need'st not alarm thee. 

That thus thy form I hold ; 
For I only seek to warm me. 

And the night is black and cold." 



5oi POEMS OF THE 


IMAGINATION. 


" The wind to the waves is calling, 


i 


The moonlight is foding away ; 


THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 


And tears down tliy cheek are falling, 




Thou beautiful water fay ! " 


PART I. 




Os either side the river lie 


" Tlie wind to the waves is calling. 


Long iields of barley and of rye, 


And tlie moonlight grows dim on tlie 


That clothe the wold and meet the sky , 


rocks ; 


And through the iield the road runs by 


But no tears from mine eyes are foiling. 


To many-towered Oamelot ; 


'Tis the water which drijDS from my 


And up and down the people go, 


locks." 


Gazing where the lilies blow 




Eouud an island there below — 




The island of Shalott. 


"The ocean is heaving and sobbing, 




The sea-mews scream in the spray ; 


Willows whiten ; aspens quiver ; 


And thy heart is wildly throbbing. 


Little breezes dusk and shiver 


Thou beautiful water fay ! " 


Through the wave that runs for ever 




By the island in the river, 


" My heart is wildly swelling, 


Flowing down to Oamelot. 


And it beats in burning truth ; 


Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 


For I love thee, past all telling — 


Overlook a space of flowers; 


Thou beautiful mortal youth." 


And the silent isle imbowers 


IIenky Heine. (German.) 


The lady of Shalott. 


Tninslation of Chakles G. Leland. 






By the margin, willow-veiled, 




Slide the heavy barges, trailed 
By slow horses ; and, unbailed. 




SONG. 


The shallop flitteth, silken-sailed — 


Skimming down to Camelot ; 


I. 


But who hath seen her wave her hand ? 


A LAKE and a fairy boat. 


Or at the casement seen her stand ? 


To sail in the moonlight clear — 


Or is she known in all the land — 


And merrily we would float 


Thelady of Shalott? 


From the dragons that watch us here! 






Only reapers, reaping early 


II. 


In among the bearded barley. 


Thy gown should be snow-white silk ; 


Hear a song that echoes cheerly 


And strings of orient pearls, 


From the river, winding clearly 


Like gossamers dipped in millc, 


Down to towered Camelot ; 


Sliould twine with thy raven curls ! 


And by the moon the reaper weary, 




Piling sheaves in uplands aiiy, 


III. 


Listening, whispers, " 'T is the fairy 


Red rubies should deck thy hands, 


Lady of Shalott." 


And diamonds should be thy dower — 


PART II. 


But fairies bave broke tbeir wands, 


And wishing has lost its power! 


There she weaves by night and day 


TnoMAs Hood. 


A magic web with colors gay. 




She has heard a whisper say 
A curse is on her if she stay 






To look down to Camelot. 



THE LADY 


3F SHALOTT. 555 


Slie knows not what the cnrse may he ; 


Ilung in the golden galaxy. 


And so she Avcaveth steadily, 


The bridle bells rang merrily. 


And little other care hath she — 


As he rode down to Camelot ; 


The lady of Shalott. 


And, from his blazoned baldric slung, 




A mighty silver bugle hung ; 


And, moving throngh a mirror clear 


And as he rode his armor rung, 


That hangs hefore her all the year. 


Beside remote Shalott. 


Shadows of the world appear. 




There she sees the highway near, 


All in the blue unclouded weather 


Winding down to Camelot ; 


Thick -jewelled shone the saddle-leather; 


There the river eddy whirls ; 


The helmet and the helmet-feather 


And there the surly village-churls. 


Burned like one burning flame together, 


And the red cloaks of market-gii-ls, 


As he rode down to Camelot. 


Pass onward from Shalott. 


As often, through the purple night, 




Below the starry clusters bright, 


Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, 


Some bearded meteor, trailing light. 


An ahbot on an amhling pad — 


Moves over still Shalott. 


Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. 




Or long-haired page, in crimson clad, 


His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed ; 


Goes by to towered Camelot ; 


On burnished hooves his war-horse trode ; 


And sometimes through the mirror blue 


From underneath his helmet flowed 


The knights come riding, two and two : 


His conl-black curls as on he rode. 


She hath no loyal knight and true — 


As he rode down to Camelot. 


The lady of Shalott. 


From the bank and from the river 




He flashed into the crystal mirror : 


But in her web she still delights 


" Tirra lirra," by the river. 


To weave the mirror's magic sights ; 


Sang Sir Lancelot. 


For often, through the silent nights. 




A funeral, with plumes and lights 


She left th« web, she left the loom ; 


And music, went to Camelot ; 


She made three paces through the room ; 


Or, when the moon was overhead, 


She saw the water-lily bloom ; 


Came two young lovers lately wed ; 


She saw the helmet and the plume ; 


" I am half-sick of shadows," said 


She looked down to Camelot : 


The lady of Shalott. 


Out flew the web, and floated wide ; 




The mirror cracked from side to side ; 




"The curse is come upon me," cried 


PART III. 


The lady of Shalott. 


A b((\v-shot from her bo-n'er-eaves 




lie rode between the bai'ley sheaves ; 




The sun came dazzling through the leaves. 


PART IV. 


And flamed upon the brazen greaves 


In the stormy east-wind straining. 


Of bold Sir Lancelot. 


The pale yellow woods were waning— 


A red-cross knight for ever kneeled 


The broad stream in his banks comjilainiug, 


To a lady in his shield. 


Heavily the low sky raining 


That sparkled on tlie yellow field. 


Over towered Camelot ; 


Beside remote Shalott. 


Down she came, and found a boat, 




Beneath a willow left afloat ; 


The gemmy bridle glittered free, 


And round about the prow she wrote 


Like to some branch of stars Ave see 


The lady of Shalott, 



55(5 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



And down the river's dim expanse — 
Like some bold seer in a trance, 
Seeing all his own mischance — 
With a glassy countenance 

Did she look to Camelot. 
And at the closing of the day 
She loosed the chain, and down she lay ; 
The broad stream bore her far away — 

The lady of Shalott. 

Lying robed in snowy white. 
That loosely flew to left and right — 
The leaves upon her falling light — 
Through the noises of the night 

She floated down to Oamelot ; 
And as the boat-head wound along, 
The willowy hills and fields among, 
They heard her singing her last song — 

The lady of Shalott — 

Heard a carol, mournful, holy. 
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly — 
Till her blood was frozen slowly, 
And her eyes were darkened wholly. 

Turned to towered Camelot ; 
For ere she reached, upon the tide, 
The first house by the water-side, 
Singing, in her song she died — • 

The lady of Shalott. 

Under tower and balcony, 

By garden- wall and gallery, 

A gleaming shape, she floated by — 

A corse between the houses high — 

Silent, into Camelot. 
Out upon the wharfs they came. 
Knight and burgher, lord and dame ; 
And round the prow they read her name- 

Tlie lady of Shalott. 

Who is this ? and what is licre ? 

And in the royal palace near 

Died the sound of royal cheer ; 

And they crossed themselves for fear — 

All the knights at Camelot ; 
But Lancelot mused a little space : 
He said, " She has a lovely face ; 
God in his mercy lend her grace — 

Tlic lady of Shalott." 

Alfked Tennyson. 



COMUS, A MASK. 

TOE I'EKSOXS. 

The attendant Spip.it, afterwards in tlie liabit 

of TiiYnsis. 
CoMrs, with his crew. 
The Lady. 
First Brother. 
Second Buotiiee. 
Sabiuna, the Nj'mph. 

THE FIKST SCENE DISCOVERS A WILD A\ OOP. 

The attendant Spirit descends or enters. 
Before the starry threshold of Jove's court 
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes 
Of bright aerial spirits live insphered 
In regions mild of calm and serene air. 
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot. 
Which men call earth, and, with low-thought- 

ed care 
Confined, and pestered in this pinfold here, 
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being. 
Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives. 
After this mortal change, to her true ser- 
vants, 
Amongst tlie enthroned gods on sainted seat3. 
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire 
To lay their just hands on that golden key 
That opes the palace of eternity. 
To such my errand is ; and, but for such, 
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds 
With the rank vapors of this sin-worn mould. 
But to my task : Neptune, besides the 
sway 
Of every salt flood, and each ebbing stream. 
Took in, by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove. 
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles, 
That like to rich and various gems inlay 
The unadorned bosom of the deep; 
Which he, to grace his tributary gods. 
By course commits to several government, 
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire 

crowns. 
And wield their little tridents. But this isle, 
The greatest and the best of all the main, 
He quarters to his blue-haired deities ; 
And all this tract, that fronts the falling sun, 
A noble peer of mickle trust and power 
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to 

guide 
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms; 



C jI u s . 



Wliere his fair oftspring, nursed in princely 

lore, 
Are coming to atteiul tlieir lather's state, 
Ami new-iutrustcd sceptre ; but their way 
IJes through the perplexed paths of this drear 

wood, 
The nodding horror of whose shady brows 
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger. 
And here tlieir tender age might suffer peril, 
But that, by quick command from sovereign 

Jove, 
I Avas despatched for their defence and guard ; 
And listen why — for I will tell you now 
"What never yet was heard in tale or song. 
From old or modern bard, in liall or bower. 
iKXCchus, that' first from out the purple 

grape 
Crushed the sweet poison of misused Avine, 
After the Tuscan mariners transformed. 
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the Aviuds 

listed. 
On Circe's island fell. "Who knows not Circe, 
The daughter of the sun, Avhose charmed cup 
"Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, 
And downward fell into a grovelling swine? 
This nymph, that gazed upon his clustering 

locks 
With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe 

youth. 
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son 
Much like his father, but his mother more ; 
Whom therefore she brought np, and Comus 

named ; 
Who' ripe, and frolic of his full grown age. 
Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields. 
At last betakes him to tliis ominous Avood, 
And, in thick shelter of black shades imboAV- 

ered. 
Excels his mother at her mighty art, 
Ottering to every weary traveller 
His orient liquor in a ci'ystal glass. 
To quench the drouth of Phoebus; which as 

they taste, 
(For most do taste through fond intemp'rate 

thirst) 
Soon as the potion Avorks, their human coun- 
tenance, 
Til' express resemblance of the gods, is 

changed 
Into some brutish form, of Avolf, or bear, 
Or ounce, or tiger, hog or bearded goat — 



All other parts remaining as they were; 
And they, so perfect is their misery, 
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, 
But boast themselves more comely than be- 
fore ; 
And all their friends and nati\-e home forget, 
To roll Avith pleasure in a sensual sty. 
Therefore, Avhen any favored of high Jove 
Chances to pass through this adventurous 

glade, 
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star 
I shoot from heav'n, to give him safe con- 
voy- 
As noAv I do. But first I must put off 
These my sky robes, spun out of Iris' woof, 
And take the Aveeds and likeness of a swain. 
That to the service of this house belongs. 
Who with his soft pipe, and smooth-dittied 

song. 
Well knoAvs to still the wild Avinds Avhen they 

roar, 
And hush the Avaving Avoods; nor of less 

faith, 
And, in this ofllce of liis mountain Avatch, 
Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid. 
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread 
Of hateful steps; I must be vicAvless noAv. 

CoMus enters^ with a cltarming rod in one 
Jiand^ his glass in the other ; tcith him a 
rout of monsters^ headed like sundry sorts 
of wild heasts — hut othericise like men and 
icomen, their ajyparel (ilistcning ; they come 
in.malcing a riotous and unruly noise, with 
torches in tlieir hands. 

CoMUS. The star that bids the shepherd fold 

NoAv the top of heaven doth hold ; 

And the gilded car of day 

His gloAving axle doth allay 

In the steep Atlantic stream ; 

And the slope sun his upAvard beam 

Shoots against the dusky i)olc, 

Pacing toward the other goal 

Of his chamber in the east. 

Mcanwliile Avelcome Joy and Feast, 

Midnight Shout and EcA-elry, 

Tipsy Dance and Jollity. 

Braid your locks Avith rosy twine, 

Dropping odors, dropping Avine. 

Rigor noAV is gone to bed. 



558 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



And Advice with scrupulous bead ; 

Strict Age, and sour Severity, 

With their grave saws in sknuber lie. 

We that are of purer fire 

Imitate the starry quire, 

Who in their nightly watchful spheres 

Lead in swift round the months and years. 

The sounds and seas, with all their finny 

drove, 
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move ; 
And on the tawny sands and shelves 
Trip the pert fiiiries and the dapper elves. 
By dimpled brook, and fountain brim. 
The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim, 
Their merry wakes and pastimes keep ; 
What hath night to do with sleep ? 
Night hath better sweets to prove ; 
Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. 
Come ! let us our rites begin — 
'T is only daylight that makes us sin. 
Which these dun shades will ne'er report. 
Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport. 
Dark-veiled Cotytto ! t' whom the secret 

flame 
Of midnight torclies burns ; mysterious dame. 
That ne'er art called but when the dragon 

womb 
Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom. 
And makes one blot of all the air ; 
Stay thy cloudy ebon chair. 
Wherein thou ridest with Hecate, and be- 

fi'iend 
Us, thy vowed priests, till utmost end 
Of all thy dues be done, and none left out. 
Ere the babbling eastern scout, 
The nice morn, on the Indian steep 
From her cabined loophole peep, 
And to the tell-tale sun descry 
Our concealed solemnity. 
Come, knit hands, and beat the ground 
In a light fantastic round ! 

TliE MEASUEE. 

Break off, break off! I feel the different pace 
Of some chaste footing near about this ground. 
Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and 

trees ; 
Our number may affright some virgin sure, 
(For so I can distinguish by mine art), 
Eenighted in these woods. Now to my 

charms. 



And to my wily trains ; I shall ere long 
Be Avell stocked, with as fair a hei-d as grazed 
About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl 
My dazzling spells into the spungy air, 
Of power to cheat tlie eye with blear illusion, 
And give it false presentments ; lest the place 
And my quaint habits breed astonishment. 
And put the damsel to suspicious flight — 
Which must not be, for that's against my 

course. 
I, under fair pretence of friendly ends. 
And well placed words of glozing courtesy, 
Baited with reasons not unplausible. 
Wind me into the easy-hearted man, 
And hug him into snares. When once her 

eye 
Hath met the virtue of this magic dust, 
I shall appear some harmless villager. 
Whom thrift keeps up, about his country gear. 
But here she comes; I fairly step aside, 
And hearken, if I may, her business here. 

THE LADY EXTEES. 

This way the noise was, if mine ear be trv.e — ■ 
My best guide now ; metliought it was the 

sound 
Of riot and ill-managed merriment. 
Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe 
Stirs up among the loose, unlettered hinds, 
When for their teeming flocks, and granges 

full, 
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous 

Pan, 
And thank the gods amiss. I should be 

loath 
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence 
Of such late Avassailers ; yet oh ! wiiere else 
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood ? 
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out 
With this long way, resolving here to lodge 
Under the spreading favor of these pines, 
Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket side 
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 
As the kind hospitable woods provide. 
They left me, then, when the gray-hooded 

even, 
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed. 
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' 

wain. 



C M U S . 



5o'J 



But where they are, and why they came not 
back. 

Is now the labor of my thoughts ; 't is like- 
liest 

They had engaged their wandering steps too 
far ; 

And envious darkness, ere they could return, 

Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish 
night, 

Why sbonldst thou, but for some felonious 
end, 

In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars. 

That nature bung in beaven, and filled their 
lamps 

With everlasting oil, to give due light 

To tbe misled and lonely traveller ? 

This is tbe place, as well as I may guess, 

Whence even now tbe tumult of loud mirth 

Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear ; 

Yet nougbt but single darkness do I find. 

What might this be ? A thousand fantasies 

Begin to throng into my memory. 

Of calling sbapes, and beckoning shadows 
dire, 

And airy tongues, that syllable men's names 

On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. 

These tboughts may startle well, but not as- 
tound 

The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 

By a strong-siding champion, conscience. 

welcome pure-eyed faith, white-handed 

bope — 
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden Avings — 
And thou, unblemished form of chastity ! 

1 see ye visibly, and now believe 

That be, the supreme good, t' Avhom all 

things ill 
Are but as slavish oflBcers of vengeance, 
Would send a glistering guardian, if need 

were. 
To keep my life and honor unassailed. 
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the nigbt ? 
I did not err, there does a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver Iming on tbe night, 
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 
I cannot halloo to my brothers ; but 
Such noise as I can make, to be heard ftir- 

thest, 
I 'U venture, for my new-eiilivened spirits 
Prompt me ; and they perhaps are not far off 



SwEEt Echo, sweetest nymph — that livest 
unseen 
Within thy airy shell, 
By slow Meandei-'s margent green. 
And in the violet-embroidered vale 

Where the love-lorn nightingale 
Nightly to thee her sad song mournetb well— 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
That likest thy Narcissus are < 
Oh, if thou have 
Hid them in some flowery cave, 
Tell me but where. 
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the 

sphere ! 
So mayst thou be translated to the skies, 
And give resounding grace to all heaven's 
harmonies. 

Enter Comtjs. 

Com. Can any mortal mixture of earth'3 

mould 
Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment? 
Sure something holy lodges in that breast. 
And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
To testify his hidden residence. 
How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night — 
At every fall smoothing tbe raven down 
Of darkness till it smiled ! I oft have heard 
My mother Circe with tbe sirens three. 
Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades 
Cubing their potent herbs and baleful drugs, 
Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned 

soul, 
And lap it in Elysium ; Scylla wept. 
And chid her barking waves into attention. 
And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause ; 
Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense, 
And in sweet madness robbed it of itself. 
But such a sacred and home-felt delight. 
Such sober certainty of W'akmg bliss, 
I never heard till now. I '11 speak to her, 
And she shall be my queen. Hail, foreign 

wonder ! 
Whom, certain, these rough shades did never 

breed. 
Unless the goddess that in rural shi-ine 
Dwellest here with Pan or Silvan, by blesf 

song 



560 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Forbidding every bleak uukindly fog 
To touch tlie prosperous growth of this tall 
wood! 
Lad. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that 
praise 
That is addi'essed to unattending ears ; 
Not any boast of skilly but extreme shift 
How to regain my severed company, 
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo, 
To give me answer from her mossy couch. 
Com. "What chance, good 'ady, hath bereft 

you thus? 
Lad. Dim darkness, and this leafy laby- 
rinth. 
Com. Could that divide you from near ush- 
ering guides ? 
Lad. They left me weary on a grassy turf. 
Com. By falsehood, or discourtesy? or why? 
Lad. To seek i' th' valley some cool friendly 

sj^ring. 
Com. And left your fair side all unguarded, 

lady ? 
Lad. They Avere but twain, and purposed 

quick return. 
Com. Perhaps forestalling uight prevented 

them. 
Lad. How easy my misfortune is to hit ! 
Com. Imports their loss, beside the present 

need ? 
Lad. No less than if I sliould my brothers 

lose. 
Com. Were they of manly prime, or youth- 
ful bloom ? 
Lad. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored 

lips. 
Com. Two such I saw, what time the la- 
bored ox 
In his loose traces from the furrow came. 
And the swinked hedger at his supper sat ; 
I saw them, under a green mantling vine 
Tliat crawls along the side of yon small hill. 
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots. 
Their port was more than human, as they 

stood ; 
I took it for a fairy vision 
Of some gay creatures of the element, 
That in the colors of the rainbow live. 
And play i' th' plighted clouds. I was awe- 
struck ; 
And as I passed, I worshipped. If those you 
seek, 



It were a journey like the path to heaven 
To help you find tliem. 
Lad. Gentle villager, 
What readiest way would bring me to that 

place ? 
Com. Due west it rises from this shrubby 

point. 
Lad. To find that out, good shepherd, ] 

suppose. 
In such a scant allowance of star-light, 
Would overtask the best land-pilot's art. 
Without the sure guess of well-practised feefc. 
. Com. I know each lane, and every alley 

green, 
Dingle or bushy dell, of this wild wood, 
And every bosky bourn from side to side — 
My daily walks and ancient neighborhood ; 
And if your stray-attendants be yet lodged. 
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know 
Ere morrow Avake, or the low-roosted lark 
From her thatched pallat rouse ; if otherwise, 
I can conduct you, lady, to a low 
But loyal cottage, Avhere you may be safe 
Till further quest. 

Lad. Shepherd, I take thy word. 
And trust thy honest-offered courtesy, 
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds 
With smoky rafters, than in tap'stry halls 
And courts of princes, where it first was 

named. 
And yet is most pretended ; in a i")lace 
Less warranted than this, or less secure, 
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it. 
Eye me, blest Providence, and square my 

trial 
To my proportioned strength. Shepherd. 

lead on ! 

Enter The Two Beotueks. 

1 Br. Unmuftle, ye faint stars ! and thou, 
fair moon. 
That wont'st to love the traveller's benison, 
Stoop thy pale visage through an amber 

cloud, 
And disinherit Chc^os, that reigns here 
In double niglit of darkness and of shades ; 
Or if your influence be quite dammed up 
AVith black usurping mists, some gentle taper, 
Tliough a rush candle from the wickei'-hole 
Of some clay habitation, visit us 



COMUS. 



cei 



With thy long-levelled rule of streaming 

light; 
And thou shalt he our star of Arcady, 
Or Tyrian cynosure. 

2 Be. Or if our eyes 
Be barred that happiness, might we but hear 
The folded flocks penned in their -n'attled 

cotes, 
Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, 
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock 
Count the night watches to his feathery 

dames, 
'T would be some solace yet, some little cheer- 
ing 
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. 
But oh that hapless vu-gin, our lost sister ! 
Where may she wander now, whither betake 

her 
From the chill dew, among rude burs and 

thistles ? 
Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now ; 
Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm 
Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad 

fears ; 
What if in wild amazement and affriglit, 
Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp 
Of savage hunger, or of savage heat? 

1 Be. Peace, brother! be not over-exqui- 
site 
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils ; 
For grant they be so — while they rest un- 
known, 
What need a man forestall his data of grief. 
And run to meet what he would hiost avoid? 
Or if they be but false alarms of fear. 
How bitter is such self-delusion! 
I do not think my sister so to seek, 
Or so unprincipled in virtue's book, 
And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms 

ever. 
As that the single want of light and noise 
(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) 
Could stir the constant mood of her calm 

thoughts, 
And put them into misbecoming plight. 
Virtue could see to do what virtue would 
By hci- own radiant light, though sun and 

moon 
Were in the flat sea sunk. And wisdom's self 
Oft seeks to sweet; retired solitude, 
Where, with, her best nurse, contemplation, 
75 



She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her 

wings. 
That in the various bustle of resort 
Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impaired. 
He that has light within his OAvn clear breast 
May sit i' th' centre, and enjoy bright day ; 
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul 

thoughts. 
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun ; 
Himself is his own dungeon. 

2 Be. 'T is most true, 
That musing meditation most affects 
The pensive secrecy of desert cell, 
Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds, 
And sits as safe as in a senate house ; 
For who would rob a hermit of his weeds. 
His few books, or his beads, or maple dish. 
Or do his gray hairs any violence ? 
But beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree 
Laden with blooming gold, had need the 

guard 
Of dragon Avatch with unenchanted eye. 
To save her blossoms, and defend her fi-uit 
From the rash hand of bold incontinence. 
You may as well spread out the unsunned 

heaps 
Of miser's treasure by an outlaw's den. 
And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope 
Danger will wink on opportunity, 
And let a single helpless maiden pass 
Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste. 
Of night, or loneliness, it recks me not; 
I fear the dread events that dog them both, 
Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the per- 
son 
Of our unowned sister. 

1 Be. I do not, brother. 

Infer as if I thought my sister's state 
Secure without all doubt, or controversy; 
Yet where an equal poise of hope and fear 
Does arbitrate th' event, my nature is 
That I incline to hope, rather than fear, 
And gladly banish squint suspicion. 
My sister is not so defenceless left 
As you imagine ; she has hidden strength. 
Which you remember not. 

2 Be. What hidden strength, 

Unless the strength of heaven, if you mean 
that ? 
1 Be. I mean that too, but yet a hidden 
strength, 



562 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Which, if heaven gave it, may be termed her 

own : 
'T is chastity, iny brother, chastity : 
She that has that is chid in complete steel. 
And like a quivered nymph with arrows keen 
May trace huge forests, and nnharbored 

heaths, 
Iiitamous liills and sandy perilous Avilds, 
Where, through the sucred rays of chastity, 
No savage fierce, bandit, or mountaineer. 
Will dare to soil her virgin purity ; 
Yea there, where very desolation dwells 
By grots, and caverns shagged with horrid 

shades. 
She may pass on with unhlenched majesty, 
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. 
Some say no evil thing that walks by night, 
In fog, or fire, by lake, or moorish fen. 
Blue, meagre hag, or stubborn, unlaid ghost, 
That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, 
No goblin, or swart fairy of the jnine, 
Ilath hurtful power o'er true virginity. 
Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call 
Antiquity from the old schools of Greece 
To testify the arms of Chastity ? 
Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow. 
Fair silver-shafted queen, forever chaste, 
Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness 
And spotted mountain jiard, but set at naught 
The frivolous bolt of C lipid ; gods and men 
Feared her stern frown, and she was queen o' 

the woods. 
What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield 
That wise Minerva wore, uncon(iuered vir- 
gin, 
Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed 

stone. 
But rigid looks of chaste austerity, 
And noble grace that dashed brute violence 
W^ith sudden adoration, anc? blank awe ? 
So dear to heaven is saintly chastity. 
That when a soul is found sincerely so 
A thousand liveried angels lackey her, 
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, 
And in clear dream, and solemn vision. 
Tell lier of things that no gross ear can hear, 
Till off", converse with heavenly habitants 
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape, 
The unpolluted temple of the mind, 
And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence. 
Till all be made immortal ; but when lust. 



By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul 

talk. 
But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, 
Lets in defilement to the inward parts. 
The soul grows clotted by contagion, 
Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose 
The divine property of her first being. 
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows 

damp. 
Oft seen in charnel vaults, and sepulchres. 
Lingering, and sitting by a new-made grave, 
As loath to leave the body that it loved, 
And linked itself by carnal sensuality 
To a degenerate and degraded state. 

2 Br. How charming is divine philosophy ! 
Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose. 
But musical as is Apollo's lute. 
And a perpetual feast of nectarcd sweets, 
Where no crude surfeit reigns. 

1 Be. List! list! I hear 

Some far off halloo break the silent air. 

2 Br. Methought so, too ; what should it 

be? 

1 Br. For certain 

Either some one like us, night-foundered here, 
Or else some neighbor wood-man ; or, at 

worst. 
Some roving robber calling to his fellows. 

2 Br. Heaven keep my sister. Again, 

again, and near ; 
Best draw, and stand upon our guard. 

1 Be. I '11 halloo ; 

If he be friendly, he comes well ; if not, 
Defence is a good cause, and heaven be for 
us. 

The attendant Spirit, liabited lilce a Shepherd. 

That halloo I should know, what are you? 

speak ; 
Come not too near, you fall on iron stakes 

else. 
Spi. AVhat voice is that ? my young lord ? 

speak again. 

2 Br. O brother, 'tis my father's shepherd, 

sure. 
1 Br. Thyrsis ? whose artful strains have 

oft delayed 
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal, 
And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale. 
How cam'st thou here, good swain? hath 

any ram 



COMUS. 



563 



Slipt from the fold, or young kid lost his 

dam, 
Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook ? 
How could'st thou find this dark sequestered 

nook ? 
Spi. O • my loved master's heir, and his 

next joy, 
I came not here on such a trivial toy 
As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth 
Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth 
That doth enrich these downs is worth a 

thought 
To this my errand, and the care it brought. 
But oh, my virgin lady, where is she ? 
How chance she is not in your company? 
1 Br. To tell thee sadly, shepherd, without 

blame, 
Or our neglect we lost her as we came. 
Spi. Aye me unhappy ! then my fears are 

true. 
1 Br. What fears, good Thyi-sis ? Prithee 

briefly shew. 
Spi. I 'U tell ye ; 't is not vain or fabulous 
(Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance) 
What the sage poets, taught by th' heavenly 

muse. 
Storied of old in high immortal verse. 
Of dire chimeras and enchanted isles, 
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to 

hell ; 
For such there be, but unbelief is blind. 

Within the navel of this hideous wood, 
Immured in cypress shades a sorcerer dwells, 
Of Bacchus and of Oirce born, great Comus, 
Deep skilled in all his mother's witcheries; 
And here to every thirsty wanderer 
By sly enticement gives his baneful cup. 
With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing 

poison 
The visage quite transforms of him that 

drinks. 
And the inglorious likeness of a beast 
Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage 
Charactered in the face ; this have I learnt 
Tending my flocks hard by i' th' hilly crofts, 
That brow this bottom glade, whence night 

by night 
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl 
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey. 
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate 
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. 



Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells, 
To' inveigle and invite th' unwary sense 
Of them that pass unweeting by the way. 
This evening late, by then the chewing flocks 
Had ta'en their supper on the savory herb 
Of knot-grass dew-besprint, and were in fold, 
I sat me down to watch upon a bank 
With ivy canopied, and interwove 
With flaunting honey-suckle, and began. 
Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy, 
To meditate my rural minsti'elsy. 
Till fancy had her fill ; but ere a close. 
The wonted roar was up amidst the woods. 
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance ; 
At which I ceased, and listened them awhile. 
Till an unusual stop of sudden silence 
Gave respite to the drowsy flighted steeds 
That draw the litter of close-curtained sleep ; 
At last a soft and solemn bi'eathing sound 
Ros'e like a steam of rich distilled perfumes, 
And stole upon the air, that even silence 
Was took ere she was ware, and wished she 

might 
Deny her nature, and be never more. 
Still to be so displaced. I was all ear. 
And took in strains that might create a soul 
Under the ribs of death ; but oh, ere long. 
Too Avell I did perceive it was the voice 
Of my most honored lady, your dear sister. 
Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and 

fear ; 
And poor hapless nightingale, thought I, 
How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly 

snare ! 
Then down the lawns I ran with headlong 

haste. 
Through paths and turnings often trod by 

day. 
Till guided by mine ear I found the place. 
Where that damned wizard, hid in sly dis- 
guise, 
(For so by certain signs I knew) had met 
Already, ere my best speed could prevent, 
The aidless innocent lady, his wished prey. 
Who gently asked if he had seen such two. 
Supposing him some neighbor villager. 
Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed 
Ye were the two she meant; with that I 

sprung 
Into swift flight, till I had found you here 
But further know I not. 



564 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



2 Bb. O niglit and shades, 
How are ye joined with liell in triple knot, 
Against the unarmed weakness of one virgin, 
Aioue and helpless! Is this the confidence 
You gave me, brother? 

1 Bk. Yes, and keep it still, 
Lean on it safely ; not a period 
Shall be unsaid for me ; against the threats 
Of malice or of sorcery, or that power 
Which erring men call chance, this I hold 

firm. 
Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt. 
Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled; 
Yea, even that which mischief meant most 

harm. 
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory; 
But evil on itself shall back recoil. 
And mix no more with goodness, when at 

last. 
Gathered like scum, and settled to itself, 
It shall be in eternal, restless change 
Self-fed, and self-consumed ; if this fail. 
The pillared firmament is rottenness. 
And earth's base built on stubble. But come, 

let 's on. 
Against tli' opposing will and arm of heaven 
May never this just sword be lifted up; 
But for that damned magician, let him be 

girt 
With all the grisly legions that troop 
Under the sooty flag of Acheron, 
Harpies and hydras, or all the monstrous 

forms 
'Twixt Africa and Ind, I '11 find him out. 
And force him to restore his purchase back. 
Or drag him by the curls to a foul death, 
Cursed as his life. 

Spi. Alas ! good venturous youth, 
I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise ; 
But liere thy sword can do thee little stead. 
Far other arms and other weapons must 
Be those that quell the might of hellish 

charms ; 
He with his bare wand can unthread thy 

joints. 
And crumble all thy sinews. 

1 Bn. AVhy, prithee, shepherd, 
Uow durst thou then thyself approach so 

near 
As to make this relation ? 
Spi. Care, and utmost tihifts 



How to secure the lady from surprisal. 
Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad, 
Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled 
In every virtuous plant and healing herb 
That spreads her verdant leaf to th' morning 

ray : 
He loved me well, and oft would beg mc 

sing. 
Which when I did, he on the tender grass 
Would sit, and hearken even to ecstasy. 
And in requital ope his leathern scrip. 
And shew me simples of a thousand names, 
Telling their strange and vigorous faculties. 
Among the rest a small unsightly root. 
But of divine efTect, he culled nie out; 
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, 
But in another country, as he said, 
Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this 

soil — 
Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull 

swain 
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoou ; 
And yet more medicinal is it than that moly 
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave ; 
He called it hoemony, and gave it me. 
And bade me keep it as of sovereign use 
'Gainst all enchantments, mildew, blast, or 

damp. 
Or ghastly furies' apparition. 
I pursed it up; but little reckoning made, 
TiU now that this extremity compelled ; 
But now I find it true ; for by this means 
I knew the foul enchanter, though disguised, 
Entered the very lime-twigs of his spells. 
And yet came ofl"; if you have this about 

you 
(As I will give you when we go), you may 
Boldly assault the necromancer's hall ; 
Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood 
And brandished blade, rush on him, break 

his glass. 
And shed the luscious liquor on the ground, 
But selze-his wand ; though he and his cursed 

crew 
Fierce sigh of battle make, and menace high, 
Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke. 
Yet will they soon retire if he but shrink. 
1 Bp.. Thyrsis, lead on apace, I '11 follow 

thee. 
And some good angel bear a shield before 



COM us. 



5G5 



The scene changes to a stately palace^ set out 
with all manner of ddicmisness ; soft mu- 
sic, taUes spread with all dainties. Comcs 
appears with his rahble, and the Lady set in 
an enchanted chair, to whom he offers his 
glass, which she puts hj, and goes about to 
rise. 

Com. iS^'ay, lady, sit! if I but wave this 
wand, 
Your nerves are all chained np in alabaster, 
And you a statue, or as Daphne was 
Root-bound, that fled Apollo. 

Lad. Fool, do not boast ! 
Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind 
With all tby charms, ahhough this corporal 

rind 
Thou hast immanacled, while heaven sees 
good. 
Com. Why are you vexed, lady ? why do 
3'ou frown ? 
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these 

gates 
Sorrow flies far ; see, here be all the pleasures 
That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts. 
When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns 
Brisk as the April buds in primrose-season. 
And first behold this cordial julep here. 
That flames and dances in his crystal bounds, 
With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups 

mixed ; 
Not that Nepenthes, which the wife of Thone 
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena, 
Is of such power to stir up joy as this. 
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. 
Why should you be so cruel to yourself, 
And to those dainty limbs which nature lent 
For gentle usage, and soft delicacy? 
But you invert the covenants of her trust. 
And harshly deal, like an ill borrower, 
With that which you received on other terms, 
Scorning the unexempt condition 
By which all mortal frailty must subsist. 
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain, 
That bave been tired all day without repast, 
And timely rest have wanted ; but fair virgin, 
This will restore all soon. 

Lad. 'T will not, false traitor — 
'T will not restore the truth and honesty 
Thai thou bast banished from thy tongue with 
lies. 



Was this the cottage, and the safe abode. 
Thou told'st me of? What grim aspects are 

these. 
These ugly-headed monsters? Mercy guard 

me! 
Hence Avith thy brewed enchantments, foul 

deceiver! 
Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence 
With visored falsehood and base forgery? 
And would'st thou seek again to trap me here 
With liquorish baits, fit to insnare a brute? 
Were it a draft for Juno when she banquets, 
I would not taste thy treasonous offer; none 
But such as are good men can give good things, 
And that which is not good is not delicious 
To a well-governed and wise appetite. 

Com. Oh foolishness of men ! that lend their 
ears 
To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur, 
x\nd fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub, 
Praising the lean and sallow abstinence. 
Wherefore did nature pour her bounties forth 
With such a full and uuwithdrawing hand. 
Covering tlie earth with odors, fruits, and 

flocks. 
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable. 
But all to please, and sate the curious taste? 
And set to work millions of spinning worms. 
That in their green shops weave the smooth- 
haired silk 
To deck her sons ; and that no corner might 
Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins 
She hutcht th' all-worshipped ore, and pre- 
cious gems 
To store her children with: if all the world 
Should in a pet of temp'rance feed on pulse, 
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but 

frieze, 
Th' all-giver would be unthanked, would be 

unpraised. 
Not half his riches known, and yet despised, 
And we should serve him as a grudging mas- 
ter. 
As a penurious niggard of his wealth. 
And live like nature's bastards, not her sons, 
Who would be quite surcharged with her own 

weight. 
And strangled with her waste fertility, 
Th' earth cumbered, and the winged air 

darked with plumes, 
The herds would over-multitude their lords, 



5G6 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



The sea o'erfrangbt would swell, and tli' un- 
sought diamonds 
Would so iniblaze the forehead of the deep, 
And so bestud with stars, that they below 
Would grow inured to light, and come at last 
To gaZkj upon the sun witli shameless brows. 
List, lad}', be not coy, and be not cozened 
With that same vaunted name, virginity. 
Beauty is nature's coin, must not be hoarded, 
But must be current, and the good thereof 
Consists in mutual and partaken bliss, 
Uiisavory in th' enjoyment of itself; 
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose 
It withers on the stalk with languished head. 
Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shewn 
In courts, at feasts, and high solenmities, 
AVhere most may wonder at the workman- 
ship ; 
It is for homely features to keep home. 
They had their name thence; coarse com- 
plexions 
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply 
The sampler, and to tease the housewife's 

wool. 
What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that. 
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn ? 
There was another meaning in these gifts; 
Think what, and be advised, you are but 
young yet. 
Lad. I had not thought to have unlocked 
my lips 
In this unhallowed air, but that this juggler 
Would think to charm my judgment, as mine 

eyes. 
Obtruding false rules pranked in reason's 

garb. 
I hate when vice can bolt her arguments. 
And virtue has no tongue to check her pride. 
Impostor, do not charge most innocent nature 
As if she would her children should be riotous 
With her abundance ; she, good cateress. 
Means her provision only to the good. 
That live according to her sober laws. 
And holy dictate of spare temperance; 
If every just man, that now pines with want, 
Had but a moderate and beseeming share 
Of that which lewdly-pampered luxury 
Now heaps upon some few with vast excess. 
Nature's full blessings would be well dispensed 
In nnsuporfluous even proportion. 
And she no whit encumbered with her store; 



And then the giver would be better tlianked. 
His praise due paid; for swinish gluttony 
Ne'er looks to heaven amidst his gorgeou? 

feast. 
But with besotted base ingratitude 
Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I 

go on ? 
Or have I said enough? To him that dares 
Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous 

words 
Against the sun-clad power of chastity, 
Fain would I something say, yet to what 

end? 
Thou hast not ear, nor soul, to apprehend 
The sublime notion and high mystery 
That must be uttered to unfold the sage 
And serious doctrine of virginity ; 
And thou art worthy that thou should'st not 

know 
More happiness than this thy present lot. 
Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric. 
That hath so well been taught her dazzling 

fence. 
Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced ; 
Yet should I try, the uncontrolled worth 
Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt 

spirits 
To such a flame of sacred vehemence 
That dumb things would be moved to sym- 
pathize. 
And the brute earth would lend lier nerves, 

and shake. 
Till all thy magic structures, reared so high. 
Were shattered into heaps o'er thy false head. 

Com. She fables not; I feel that I do fear 
Her words set olf by some superior power ; 
And though not mortal, yet a cold shudder- 
ing dew 
Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove 
Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus, 
To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissemble, 
And try her yet more strongly. Come, no 

more ; 
This is mere moral babble, and direct 
Against the canon laws of our foundation ; 
I must not suffer this; yet 'tis but the lees 
And settlings of a melancholy bh)od. 
But this will cure all straight; one sip of this 
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight 
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and 
taste — 



COMUS, 



5G7 



Tlie BiiOTiiERS rush in with stcords drawn, 
wrest his glass out of his hand, and hreah 
it against the ground ; his rout make sign 
of resistance, hut are all driven in; the 
attendant Spirit comes in. 

Sn. Wheat ! have you let the false enclianter 
'scape ? 
Oh ye mistook! ye should liave snatched his 

wand 
And bound him last: -without his rod re- 
versed, 
And backward mutters of dissevering power, 
"We cannot free the lady that sits here 
In stony fetters fixed, and motionless. 
Yet stay! be not disturbed; now I bethink 

me, 
Some other means I have which may be used. 
Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt, 
The soothest shepherd that e'er piped on 
plains. 
There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, 
That with moist curb sways the smooth Sev- 
ern stream; 
Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure ; 
Whilome she was the daughter of Locrine, 
That had the sceptre from his father Brute. 
She, guileless damsel, flying the mad pursuit 
Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen, 
Commended her fair innocence to the flood. 
That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing 

course. 
The water-nymphs that in the bottom played, 
Held up their pearled wrists and took her in, 
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall. 
Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank 

head. 
And gave her to his daughters to imbathe 
In nectared lavers strowed with asphodil, 
And through the porch and inlet of each 

sense 
Dropt in ambrosial oils till she revived. 
And underwent a quick immortal change. 
Made goddess of the river ; still she retains 
Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve 
Visits the herds along the twilight meadows. 
Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs 
That the shrewd meddling elf delights to 

make. 
Which she with precious vialed liquors heals ; 
For which chc shepherds, at their festivals. 



Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, 

And throw sweet garland Avrcaths into hei 

stream, 
Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daifodils. 
And, as the old swain said, she can unlock 
The clasping charm, and thaw the mummina 

spell. 
If she be right invoked in warbled song; 
For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift 
To aid a virgin, such as was herself. 
In hard besetting need; this will I try, 
And add the power of some adjuring verse. 



Sabeina fair. 

Listen where thou art sitting 
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, 

In twisted braids of lilies knitting 
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; 

Listen, for dear honor's sake, 

Goddess of the silver lake, 
Listen and save ! 
Listen, and appear to us 
In name of great Oceanus ; 
By th' earth-shaking Neptune's mace, 
And Tethy's grave majestic pace; 
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look. 
And the Carpathian wizard's hook ; 
By scaly Triton's winding shell. 
And old sooth-saying Glaucus' speii; 
By Leucothea's lovely hands. 
And her son that rules the strands; 
By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet, 
And the songs of sirens sweet ; 
By dead Parthenojje's dear tomb, 
And fair Ligea's golden comb. 
Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks. 
Sleeking her soft alluring locks; 
By all the nymphs that nightly dance 
Upon thy streams with wily glance — 
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 
From thy coral-paven bed, 
And bridle in thy headlong wave, 
Till thou our sununons answered have. 
Listen and save ! 

Sabrina rises, attended ly neater ivjmj^Jis, and 
sings. 



By the rushy-fringed bank, 
Where grows the willow and the osier dank, 



:.j 



5G8 FOE MS OF THE 


1 
IMAGINATION. 


My sliding chariot stays, 


Come, lady! wliile heaven lends us grace, 


Thick set with agate, and the azure sheen 


Let us fly this cursed place. 


Of turkois bkie, and emerald green, 


Lest the sorcerer us entice 


That in the channel strays ; 


With some other new device. 


Whilst from oif the Avaters fleet 


Not a waste or needless sound. 


Thus I set my printless feet 


Till we come to holier ground ; 


O'er the cowslip's velvet head, 


I shall be your faithful guide 


That bends not as I tread ; 


Through this gloomy covert wide ; 


Gentle swain, at thy request 


And not many furlongs thence 


I am here. 


Is your father's residence, 


Spi. Goddess dear, 


Where this night are met in state 


! We implore thy powerful hand 


Many a friend to gratulate 


i To undo the charmed band 


His wished presence, and beside 


Of true virgin here distressed, 


All the swains that near abide, 


1 Through the force and through the wile 


With jigs and rural dance resort. 


Of unblest enchanter vile. 


We shall catch them at their sport. 


1 Sab. Shepherd, 't is my office host 


And our sudden coming there 


To help ensnared chastity : 


Will double all their mirth and cheer ; 


Brightest lady, look on me ! 


Come, let us haste, the stars grow high. 


Thus I sprinkle on thy breast 


But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky. 


Drops that from my fountain pure 




I have kept of precious cure, 


The scene changes, presenting Ludlow town 


Thrice upon thy fingers' tip, 


and the presidenVs castle; tlxen come in 


Thrice upon thy rubied lip ; 


country dancers; after them the attendant 


Next this marble venomed seat. 


Spieit, icith the two Beothees and tha 


Smeared with gums of glutinous heat. 


Lady. 


I touch with chaste palms moist and cold: 
Now the spell hath lost his hold ; 


song. 


And I must haste ere morning hour 
To wait in Amphitrite's bower. 


Spi. Back, shepherds, back! enough your 
play 
Till nest sun-shine holiday ; 




Sabeina descends, and the Lady rises out of 


Here be without duck or nod 


her seat. 


Other trippings to be trod — 




Of lighter toes, and such court guise 


Spi. Virgin, daughter of Locrine, 
Sprung from old Anchises' line, 
May thy brimmed waves for this 


As Mercury did first devise 
With tlie mincing Dryades 
On the lawns, and on the leas. 


Their full tribute never miss 
From a thousand petty rills, 
That tumble down the snowy hills ; 


This ■second song ^^resents them to their fathet 
and mother. 


Summer drought, or singed air. 


Noble lord, and lady bright, 


Never scorch thy tresses fair, 


I have brouglit ye new delight ; 


;, Nor wet October's torrent flood 


Here behold, so goodly grown, 


! Thy molten crystal fill with mud; 


Three fair branches of your own ; 


May thy billows roll ashore 


Heaven hath timely tried their youth, 


The beryl, and the golden ore ; 


Their faith, their patience, and tlieir trutli. 


May thy lofty head be crowned 


And sent them here through hard assays, . 


"With many a tower and terrace round, 


With a crown of deathless praise. 


And here and there thy banks upon 


To triumph in victorious dance 


With groves of myrrh and cinnamon. 


O'er sensual folly and intemperance. 



HYLAS. 



569 



The dances ended, the Spirit e2}iloguizes. 

Spi. To the ocean now I fly, 
And those happy dimes that lie 
Where day never shuts his eye, 
Up in the hroad fiehls of the sky. 
There I suck the liquid air 
All amidst the gardens fair 
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three 
That sing about the golden tree. 
Along the crisped shades and bowers 
Revels the spruce and jocund spring; 
The Graces, and the rosy-bosomed Hours, 
Tliither all tlieir bounties bring; 
There eternal summer dwells, 
And west-winds -with musky wing 
About the cedared alleys fling 
Nard and cassia's balmy smells. 
Iris there with humid bow 
AVaters the odorous banks that blow 
Flowers of more mingled hue 
Than her purfled scarf can sheAv, 
And drenches with Elysian dew 
(List, mortals, if your ears be true) 
Beds of hyacintli and roses, 
Where young Adonis oft reposes, 
Waxing well of his deep wound 
In slumber soft, and on the ground 
Sadly sits th' Assyrian qr.een ; 
But far above, in spangled sheen, 
Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced, 
Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced, 
After her wand'ring labors long, 
Till free consent the gods among 
Make her his eternal bride. 
And from her fair unspotted side 
Two blissful twins are to be born. 
Youth and Joy ; so Jove Jiath sworn. 

But now my task is smoothly done; 
I can fly, or I can run. 
Quickly to the green earth's end, 
Where th-e bowed welkin low doth bend. 
And from thence can soar as soon 
To the corners of the moon. 

Mortals that would follow me, 

T/^ve virtue; she alone is free; 

She can teach ye how to climb 

Higher than the sphery chime; 

Or, if virtue feeble were, 

Heaven itself would stoop to her. 

JouN Milton. 
76 



HYLAS. 

SxoRiM-WEAEiED Argo slcpt upon the water. 

No cloud was seen ; on blue and craggy Ida 

The hot noon lay, and on the plain's enamel; 

Cool, in his bed, alone, the swift Scamander. 

"Why should I haste?" said young and rosy 
Hylas : 

" The seas were rough, and long the way from 
Colchis. 

Beneath the snow-white awning slumbers Ja- 
son, 

Pillowed upon his tame Thessalian panther ; 

The shields are piled, the listless ours sus- 
pended 

On the black thwarts, and all the hairy bonds- 
men 

Doze on the benches. They may wait for 
water, 

Till I have bathed in mountain-born Scanuan- 
der." 

So said, unfilleting his purple chlamys, 

And putting down his urn, he stood a mo- 
ment, 

Breathing the faint, warm odor of the blos- 
soms 

That spangled thick the lovely Dardan mead- 
ows. 

Then, stooping lightly, loosened he his bus- 
kins, 

And felt with shrinking feet the crisjiy ver- 
dure ; 

Naked, save one light robe that from his 
shoulder 

Hung to his knee, tlie youthful flush reveal- 
ing 

Of warm, white limbs, half-nerved with com- 
ing manhood. 

Yet fair and smooth with tenderness of beauty. 

Now to the river's sandy marge advancing, 

He dropped the robe, and raised his head ex- 
ulting 

In the clear sunshine, that with beam era- 
bracing 

Held him against Apollo's glowing bosom. 

For sacred to Latona's son is beauty, 

Sacred is youth, the joy of youtiiful feeling 

A joy indeed, a living joy, was Hylas, 



SYO 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Whence Jove-begotten Heracles, the mighty, 
To men though terrible, to him was gentle. 
Smoothing his rugged nature into laughter 
When the boy stole his club, or from his 

shoulders 
Dragged the huge paws of the ISTemosan lion. 

The thick, brown locks, tossed backward from 
his forehead, 

Fell soft about his temples ; manhood's blos- 
som 

Not 3'et had sprouted on liis chin, but freshly 

Curved the fair cheek, and full the red lips' 
parting, 

Like a loose bow, that just has launched its 
arrow. 

His large blue eyes, with joy dilate and 
beamy. 

Were clear as the unshadowed Grecian heav- 
en ; 

Dewy and sleek his dimpled shoulders rounded 

To the white arms and whiter breast between 
them. 

Downward, the supple lines had less of soft- 
ness : 

His back was like a god's ; his loins were 
moulded 

As if some pulse of power began to waken ; 

The springy fulness of his thighs, outswerv- 

i"g, 
Sloped to his knee, and, lightly dropping 

downward, 
Drew the curved lines that breathe, in rest, 

of motion. 



^, lU i,^OU, 



He saw his glorious limbs reversely mirrored 

In the still wave, and stretched his foot to 
press it 

On the smooth sole that answered at the sur- 
face : 

Alas ! the shape dissolved in glimmering 
fragments. 

Tlien, timidly at first, he dipped, and catching 

Quick breath, with tingling shudder, as the 
waters 

Swirled round his thighs, and deeper, slowly 
deeper, 

Till on his breast the river's cheek was pil- 
lowed, 

And deeper still, till every shoreward ripple 

Talked in his ear, and like a cygnet's bosom 



His white, round shoulder shed the dripping 

crystal. 
There, as he floated, with a rapturous motion, 
The lucid coolness folding close around liim, 
The lily-cradling rip])les murmured, " Ilylas! " 
He shook from off liis ears the hyacinthine 
Curls, that had lain unwet upon the water, 
And still the ripples murmured, "Hylas! 

Hylas ! " 
He thought: "The voices are but ear-born 

music. 
Pan dwells not here, and Echo still is calling 
From some high clitf that tops a Thracian 

valley ; 
So long mine ears, on tumbling Hellespontus, 
Have heard the sea waves hammer Argo's 

forehead. 
That I misdeem the fluting of tins current 
For some lost nymph — " Again the murmur, 

" Hylas ! " 
And Avith the sound a cold, smooth arm 

around him 
Slid like a wave, and down the clear, green 

darkness 
Glimmered on either side a shining bosom — 
Glimmered, uprising slow ; and ever closer 
Wound the cold arms, till, climbing to his 

shoulders, 
Their cheeks lay nestled, while the purple 

tangles. 
Their loose hair made, in silken mesh enwound 

him. 
Their eyes of clear, pale emerald then uplift- 
ing, 
They kissed his neck Avith lips of humid coral. 
And once again there came a murmur, "Hy- 
las! 
Oh, come with us! Oh, follow where we 

wander 
Deep down beneath the green, translucent 

ceiling — 
AVhere on the sandy bed of old Scamander 
With cool white buds we braid our purple 

tresses, 
Lulled by the bubbling waves around us 

stealing ! 
Thou fair Greek boy, oh come with us ! Oh, 

follow 
Where thou no more shalt hear Propontia 

riot. 
But by our arms be lapped in endless quiet, 



HYLAS. 



571 



WitLin the glimmering caves of ocean hol- 
low ! 

We have no love ; alone, of all the immortals, 

We have no love. Oh, love us, we who press 
thee 

With faithful arms, theugh cold, — whose lips 
caress thee, — 

Who hold thy beauty prisoned ! Love us, 
Ilylas ! " 

The sound dissolved in liquid murmurs, call- 
ing 

Still as it faded, " Come with us ! Oh follow ! " 

The boy grew chill to feel their twining pres- 
sure 

Lock round Ins limbs, and bear him, vainly 
striving, 

Down fi-om the noonday brightness. " Leave 
me, naiads ! 

Leave me ! " he cried ; " the day to me is 
dearer 

Than all your caves deep-sphered in ocean's 
quiet. 

I am but mortal, seek but mortal pleasure : 

I would not change this flexile, warm exist- 
ence. 

Though swept by storms, and shocked by 
Jove's dread thunder, 

To be a king beneath the dark-green waters." 

Still moaned the humid lips, between their 
kisses, 

" We have no love. Oh, love us, we who love 
thee ! " 

And came in answer, thus, the words of Ily- 
las : 

"My love is mortal. For the Argive maid- 
ens 

I keep the kisses which your lips would 
ravish. 

Unlock your cold white arms — take from my 
shoulder 

The tangled swell of your bewildering tresses. 

Let me return : the wind comes down from 
Ida, 

And soon the gallej', stirring from her slum- 
ber, 

Will fret to ride where Pelion's twilight 
shadow 

Falls o'er the towers of Jason's sea-girt city. 

I am not yours — I cannot braid the lilies 

In your wet hair nor on your argent bosoms 



Close my drowsed eyes to hear your rippling 
voices. 

Hateful to me your sweet, cold, crystal be- 
in 'i* — 

Your world of watery quiet. Help, Apollo ! 

For I am thine : thy fire, thy beam, thy mu- 
sic. 

Dance in my heart and flood my sense with 
rapture ; 

The joy, the warmth and passion now awa- 
ken. 

Promised by thee, but ere while calmly sleep- 
ing. 

Oh, leave me, naiads! loose your chill em- 
braces. 

Or I shall die, for mortal maidens pining." 

But still with unrelenting arms they bound 
him, 

And still, accordant, flowed their watery 
voices : 

"We have thee now — we hold thy beauty 
prisoned ; 

Oh, come with us beneath the emerald waters! 

We have no love ; we love thee, rosy Hylas. 

Oh, love us, who shall never more releaa-j 
thee — 

Love us, whose milky arms will be thy cra- 
dle 

Far down on the untroubled sands of ocean. 

Where now we bear thee, clasped in our em- 
braces." 

And slowly, slowly sank the amorous naiads; 

The boy's blue eyes, upturned, looked through 
the water. 

Pleading for help; but heaven's immortal 
archer 

Was swathed in cloud. The ripples hid his 
forehead ; 

And last, the thick, bright curls a moment 
floated. 

So warm and silky that the stream upbore 
them. 

Closing reluctant, as he sank for ever. 

The sunset died behind the crags of Imbros. 
Argo was tugging at her chain ; for freshly 
Blew the swift breeze, and leaped the restless 

billows. 
The voice of Jason roused the dozing sailors, 
And up the mast was heaved the snowy 

canvas. 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



But mighty Heracles, tlie Jove-begotten, 
Uiiiuindful stood, beside the cool Scamander, 
Leaning upon his club. A purple chlamys 
Tossed o'er an urn was all that lay before 

him : 
And when he called, expectant, "Ilylas! 

Hylas!" 
Tlie empty echoes made him answer — " Hy- 
las!" 

Bayakd Tatlob. 



RH(EOUS. 

God sends his teachers unto every age, 
To every clime, and every race of men. 
With revelations fitted to their growth 
And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of 

truth 
Into the selfish rule of one sole race. 
Therefore each form of worship that hath 

swayed 
The life of man, and given it to grasp 
The master-key of knowledge, reverence, 
Enfolds some germs of goodness and of right ; 
Else never had the eager soul, which loathes 
The slothful down of pampered ignorance, 
Found in it even a moment's fitful rest. 

There is an instinct in the human heart 
Which makes that all the fal'les it hath 

coined. 
To justify the reign of its belief 
And strengthen it by beauty's right divine. 
Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, 
Which, like the hazel-twig, in faithful hands, 
Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. 
For, as in nature naught is made in vain, 
But all things have within their hull of use 
A wisdom and a meaning, which may speak 
Of spiritual secrets to the ear 
Of spirit: so, in whatsoe'er the heart 
Hath fashioned for a solace to itself. 
To make its inspirations suit its creed, 
And from the niggard hands of falsehood 

wring 
Its ncedl'ul food of truth, there ever is 
A sympathy with nature, which reveals. 
Not less than her own works, pure gleams of 

light 



And earnest parables of inward lore. 
Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece, 
As full of freedom, youth, and beauty still 
As the immortal freshness of that grace 
Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze. 

A youth named RIkkcus, wandering in Ihc 

wood. 
Saw an old oak just trembling to its fall ; 
And, feeling pity of so fair a tree. 
He propped its gray trunk with admiring 

care. 
And with a thoughtless footstep loitered on. 
But, as he turned, he heard a voice behind 
That murmured " Rhcecus ! " — 'T was as if the 

leaves. 
Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured 

it; 
And, while he paused bewildered, yet again 
It murmured " Rhoecus ! " softer than a 

breeze. 
He started and beheld with dizzy eyes 
What seemed the substance of a happy dream 
Stand tliere before him, spreading a warm 

glow 
Within the green glooms of tlie shadowy oak. 
It seemed a woman's shape, yet all too fair 
To be a woman, and with eyes too meek 
For any that were wont to mate with gods. 
All naked like a goddess stood she there. 
And like a goddess all too beautiful 
To feel the guilt-born earthliness of shame. 
" Rhcecus, I am the dryad of this tree — " 
Thus she began, dropping her low-toned 

words. 
Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of dew — 
" And with it I am doomed to live and die ; 
The rain and sunshine are my caterers, 
Nor have I other bliss than simple life ; 
Now ask me what thou wilt, that I can give, 
And with a thankful joy it shall be thine." 

Then Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart, 
Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, bold. 
Answered : " What is there that can satisfy 
The endless craving of the soul but love ? 
Give me thy love, or but the hope of tliat 
Which must be evermore my spirit's goal." 
After a little pause she said again. 
But Avith a glimpse of sadness in her tone, 
" I give it, Rhtecus, though a perilous gift ; 



R II (EC us. 



573 



An hour before the sunset meet me here." 
An'l straightway there was nothing he could 

see 
But the green gk^oms beneath the shadowy 

oak ; 
And not a sound cama to his straining ears 
But the low triclvling rustle of tlie leaves, 
And, far away upon an emerald slope. 
The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe. 

Now, in those days of simpleness and faith. 
Men did not think that happy things were 

dreams 
Because they overstepped the narrow bourne 
Of likelihood, but reverently deemed 
Nothing too wondrous or too beautiful 
To be the guerdon of a daring heart. 
So Rhojcus made no doubt that he "was blest ; 
And .all along unto the city's gate 
Earth seemed to spring beneath him as he 

walked ; 
The clear, broad sky looked bluer than its 

Avont, 
And he could scarce believe he had not 

wings — 
Such sunshine seemed to glitter through his 

veins 
Instead of blood, so light he felt and strange. 

Young Rhoecus had a faitliful heart enough. 
But one that in the present dwelt too much, 
And, taking with blithe welcome whatsoe'er 
Chance gave of joy, "was wholly bound in 

that. 
Like the contented peasant of a vale. 
Deemed it the world, and never looked be- 
yond. 
So, haply meeting in the afternoon 
Some comrades who were playing at the dice, 
He joined them and forgot all else beside. 

Tlie dice were rattling at the merriest. 
And Rlioecus, who had met but sorry luck. 
Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw. 
When througli the room there hummed a yel- 
low bee 
That buzzed about his ear with down-dropped 

legs. 
As if to light. And Rhoecus laughed and 
said, 



Feeling how red and flushed he was with 

loss, 
" By Venus ! does he take me for a rose ? " 
And brushed him oif with rough, impatient 

hand. 
But still the bee came back, and thrice again, 
Rhoecus did beat him off with growing wrath. 
Then through the window flew the wounded 

bee; 
And Rhoecus, tracking him with angry eyes, 
Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Tiiessaly 
Against the red disc of the setting sun, — 
And instantly the blood sank from his heart, 
As if its very waUs had caved away. 
Without a word he turned, and rushing forth, 
Ran madly through the city and the gate, 
And o'er the plain, which now the woods 

long shade, 
By the low sun thrown forward broad and 

dim. 
Darkened well-nigh unto the city's wall. 

Quite spent and out of breath, he reached 

the tree ; 
And, listening fearfully, he heard once more 
The low voice murmur "Rhojcus!" close at 

hand — 
Whereat he looked around him, but could see 
Nought but the deepening glooms beneath 

the oak. 
Then sighed the voice, " 0, Rhoecus ! never 

more 
Shalt thou behold me, or by day or night — 
Me, who would fain have blest thee with a 

love 
More ripe and bounteous than ever yet 
Filled up with nectar any mortal heart; 
But thou didst scorn my humble messenger. 
And sent'st him back to me with bruised 

wings. 
W^e spirits only show to gentle eyes — 
We ever ask an undivided love ; 
And he who scorns the least of nature's 

works 
Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. 
Farewell! for thou canst never see me more." 

Then Rhoecus beat his breast, and groaned 

aloud, 
And cried, " Be pitiful ! forgive me yet 
This once, and I shall never need it more ! " 



574 POEMS OF THE 


IMAGINATION. 


"Alas!" tl;e vuice retumed, "'tis thou art 


And at midnight from his grave 


blind, 


The trumpeter arose. 


Not I unmerciful ; I can forgive, 


And, mounted on his horse, 


But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes ; 


A loud, shrill blast he blows. 


Only the soul hath power o'er itself." 




With that again there murmured "Fever- 


On airy coursers then 


more ! " 


The cavalry are seen — 


And Rhoecus after hoard no other sound, 


Old squadrons, erst renowned — 


Except the rattling of the oak's crisp leaves, 


Gory and gashed, I ween. 


Like the long surf upon a distant shore, 




Raking the sea-worn pebbles up and down. 


Beneath the casque their skulls 


The night had gathered round him ; o'er the 


Smile grim ; and proud their air, 


l^lain 


As in their bony hands 


The city sparkled Avith its thousand lights, 


Their long, sharp swords they bare. 


And sounds of revel fell upon his ear 




Harshly and like a curse ; above, the sky. 


At midnight from his tomb 


With all its bright sublimity of stars, 


The chief awoke and rose. 


Deepened, and on his forehead smote the 


And, followed by his staff. 


breeze ; 


With slow steps on he goes. 


Beauty was all around him, and delight; 




But from that eve he was alone on earth. 


A little hat he wears, 


James Russell Lotvell. 


A coat quite plain wears he ; 




A little sword, for arms, 


♦ 


At his left side hangs free. 




O'er the vast plain the moon 


TUE MIDNIGHT REVIEW. 


A paly lustre threw ; 




The man with the little hat 


At midnight from his grave 


The troops goes to review. 


The drummer woke and rose, 




And beating loud the drum. 


The ranks present their arms — 


Forth on his errand goes. 


Deep rolls the drum the while ; 




Recovering then, the troops 


Stirred by his fleshless arms. 


Before the chief detile. 


The drumsticks rise and fall ; 




He beats the loud retreat, 


Captains and generals round. 


Reveille and roll-call. 


In circles formed, appear ; 




The chief to the first a word 


So strangely rolls that drum, 


Now whispers in his ear. 


So deep it echoes round. 




Old soldiers in their graves 


The word goes round the ranks, 


To life start at the sound : 


Resounds along the line ; 


Both they in farthest north, 


That word they give h— France! 


Stiff in the ice that lay. 


The answer — St. Helene ! 


And they who warm repose 




Beneath Italian clay ; 


'T is there, at midnight hour. 




The grand review, they say. 


Below the mud of Nile, 


Is by dead Cjesar held 


And 'neath Arabian sand, 


In the Champs-Elysees ! 


Their burial-place they quit. 


Joseph Ciiktstian von Zedlitz. (Gcrman.1 


And soon to arms they stand. 


Anonymous Translation. 



KIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER, 



" By thy long gray beard and glitter- 
ing eye, 



PJME OF THE AXCIENT MAR- 
INER. 

IN SEVEN PAET8. 
PAKT I. 

An an- It is au ancient mariner, 

i'ne" Vieet- And lie stoppeth one of three : 

etli three 

pallanta 

biddon to 

a weddint; , •, , .^ n 

feast, and Now wheretore stopp st thou me i 

detaineth 

one. - 

The bridegroom's doors are opened 

•wide, 

And I am next of kin ; 

The guests are met, the feast is set — 

May'st hear the merry din." 

He holds him with his skinny hand : 
" There was a ship," quoth he. 
"Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard 

loon!"— 
Eftsoons his ha-nd dropt he. 



The bride hath paced into the hall— The^ ^ved- 



The wed- 
dins- 

CUCSt 13 

spell- 
bound by 
the eye of 
the old 
6ca-f:iiing 
man, and 
constrain- 
ed to hear 
his tale. 



He holds him with his glittering 

eye— 
The wedding-guest stood still; 
He listens like a three years' child : 
The mariner hath his will. 

The wedding-guest sat on a stone — 
He cannot choose but hear ; 
And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed mariner. 

"The ship was cheered, the harbor 

cleared *, 
Merrily did we drop 
Below the kirk, below the hill, 
Below the light-house top. 



Red as a rose is she ; gne-'t 

Nodding their heads before her goes the bridal 
The merry minstrelsy. 



The maii- 
ner tells 
how the 
ship sailed 
southward 
with a 
good wind 
and fair 
weather, 
till it 
reachoil 
the line. 



music ; 
but the 
manner 
. continu- 
hlS eth his 
tale. 



The sun came up upon the left. 

Out of the sea came he ; 

And he shone bright, and on the 

right 
Went down into the sea ; 

Higher and higher every day. 
Till over the mast at noon — " 
The wedding-guest here beat his 

breast, 
For he heard the loud bassoon. 



The 'wedding-guest he beat 

breast, 

Yet he cannot choose but hear ; 
And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed mariner : 



" And now the storm-blast came, and The ship 

' drawn by 

he astornilo- 

-rrr X 14- ^'^^'^ the 

Was tyrannous and strong ; s„uth 

He struck with his o'ertaking wings, P°^®- 
And chased us south along. 

With sloping masts and dipping 

prow — 
As who pursued with yell and blow 
Still treads the shadow of his foe. 
And forward bends his head — 
The ship drove fast ; loud roared the 

blast, 
And southward aye we fled. 

And now there came both mist and 

snow, 
And it grew wondrous cold ; 
And ice, mast-high, came floating by. 
As green as emerald. 



And through the drifts the snowy The laml 

° of ice, and 

cliffs of fearful 

Did send a dismal sheen ; whTre no 

Nor shapes of men nor beasts we [^Yn|was 

\^Ql\ to be seen. 

The ice was all between. 

The ice was here, the ice was there, 

The ice was all around ; 

It cracked and growled, and roared 

and howled. 
Like noises in a swound ! 



At length did cross an albatross — 
Thorough the fog it came ; 
As if it had been a Christian soul, 
Wg hailed it in God's name. 



Till a 
great sea- 
bird, call- 
ed the al- 
batross, 
came 
through 
the snow- 
fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality. 



570 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION, 



Andlol 
the alba- 
tross 
Crovetli a 
ird of 
good 

omen, and 
followetli 
the ship as 
it return- 
ed north- 
ward 
through 
fog and 
lloating 
ice. 



It ate the food it ne'er had eat, 
And round and round it flew. 
The ice did split with a tliunder-fit; 
The helmsman steered us through ! 

And a good south wind sprang up 

behind ; 
The albatross did follow, 
And every day, for food or play, 
Came to the mariners' hollo ! 

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 
It perched for vespers nine ; 
Whiles all the night, through fog- 
smoke white, 
Glimmered the white moon-shine." 



The an- " God save thee, ancient mariner! 
inerin"- "From the fiends that plague thee 

hospitabl)' tliiis I 

killeththe Hmsi 

{lions bird ^yjjy lool^'st thou SO ? "— " With my 

of good •■ •' 

omen. crOSS-bow 

I shot the albatross." 



" The sun now rose upon the right — 
Out of the sea came he. 
Still hid in mist, and on the left 
Went down into the sea. 

And the good south wind still blew 

behind ; 
But no sweet bird did follow. 
Nor any day for food or play 
Came to the mariners' hollo. 

His ship- And I had done a hellish thing, 

DliltCS 

cry out And it would work 'em woe ; 
the'an- ^or all averred I had killed the bird 
dent mar- 'pl,■^^; ^lade the breeze to blow : 

iner, for 

killing the Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to 

bird of , 

good luclc. sJay, 

That made the breeze to blow ! 

Cut when ]<^or dim nor red, like God's own 

the fog 

cleared head 

off, they 

justify 

the same, 

and thus 

make 

them- 1 1 . T 

sslves ac- 'T was right, said thoy, such bu'ds to 

conii)lice,s , 

in the slay, 

crime. rpj^^^j. ^^.. ^.^^ . ^^^ ^^^j^j.^ 



The glorious sun uprist ; 

Then all averred I had killed the bird 

That brought the fog and mist : 



The fair breeze blew, the white foam The fair 

' breeze 

flew, 
The furrow followed free ; 
We were the first that ever burst 
Into that silent sea. 



en till it readied the line. 



continues 
the ship 
enters the 
Pacific 
Ocean, 
and sails 
north- 
ward, ev- 



the 



sails The ship 
hath been 
suddenly 
becalmed 



And the 

albatross 
begins to 
be aveng- 
ed. 



Down dropt the breeze 

dropt down — 
'T was sad as sad could be ; 
And we did speak only to break 
The silence of the sea. 



All in a hot and copper sky 
The bloody sun, at noon, 
Right up above the mast did stand. 
No bigger than the moon. 

Day after day, day after day. 
We stuck — nor breath nor motion ; 
As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 

Water, water everywhere, 
And all the boards did shrink ; 
Water, water everywhere, 
Nor any drop to drink. 

The very deep did rot ; O Christ ! 

That ever this should be ! 

Yea, slimy things did crawl with 

legs 
Upon the slimy sea ! 

About, about, in reel and rout, 
The death-fires danced at niglit; 
The water, like a witch's oils. 
Burnt green, and blue and white. 



And some in dreams assured were A spirit 

had fol- 

Of the spirit that plagued us so ; lowed 
Nine fathom deep he had followed one'onho 

invisible 
"* inhabit- 

From the land of mist and snow. ants of this 

planet, 
neither 
departed 
souls nor angels ; concerning whom the learned Jew, Jo- 
so[)hus, and" the Platonic Con.stantinopolitan, Michael 
Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous 
and there is no climate or clenwnt without one or mort\ 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



577 



And every tongue, tlirough utter 

drought, 
"Was withered at the root ; 
"We could not speak, no more than if 
"We had been choked with soot. 

The ship- Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks 
Seir^'r'e Had I from old and young ! 
fvimuffain Instead of the cross the albatross 
throw the j\^])out mv neck was hung. 

whole "^ ° 

guilt on 
the an- 
cient ma- 
riner: in 
sign 

whereof 
they hano 



PART III. 



the (lead 
sca-biril 
round his 
neclc. 



At its 
nearer ap- 
pr<iach it 
seeineth 
him to be 
a ship ; 
and at a 
dear ran- 
Boni he 
freetli bis 
Slieech 
from the 
bonds of 
thirst 



A flash of 
)oy. 



see! I cried, she tacks no ^n^ho'- 

lows. For 
can it bo a 
ship that 
comes 
onward 
without 
wind or 
tide ? 



See! 

more ! 
Hither to work us weal — 
"Without a breeze, without a tide. 
She steadies with upright keel! 



There passed a weary time. Each 
throat 

"Was parched, and glazed each eye — 

A weary time ! a weary time ! 

How glazed each weary eye ! — 
The an- 'When, looking westward, I beheld 
riner be-' A something in the sky. 

holdeth a 
Bi?n in the 
element 

alar off. At first it seemed a little speck, 
And then it seemed a mist; 
It moved and moved, and took at 

last 
A certain shape, I wist — 

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 
And still it neared and ncared ; 
As if it dodged a water-sprite. 
It plunged and tacked and veered. 

"With throats unslaked, with black 

lips baked, 
"We could nor laugh nor wail ; 
Through utter drought all dumb we 

stood ! 
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood. 
And cried, A sail ! a sail ! 

With throats unslaked, with black 

lips baked. 
Agape they heard me call ; 
Gramercy ! they for joy did grin. 
And all at once their breath drew 

in, 
As they were drinking all. 
77 



The western wave was all a-flame ; 
The day was well nigh done ; 
Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad bright sun, 
"^'hen that strange shape drove sud- 
denly 
Betwixt us and the sun. 



And straight the sun was flecked It sec™- 

° etn hiiu 

with bars, but the 

T-.- . , T i\ skeletoa 

(Heaven's mother send us grace !) of a ship. 
As if through a dungeon-grate he 

peered 
"With broad and burning face. 



Alas ! thought I — and my heart beat 

loud — 
How fast she nears and nears ! 
Are those her sails that glance in the 

sun, 
Like restless gossameres ? 



Are those her ribs through which And _its 

seen as 
bars on 
the face ol 

And is that woman all her crew ? ting^sun. 
Is that a death ? and are there two ? ^.'^''wr"' 



the sun 
Did peer, as through a grate ? 



Is death that woman's mate ? 
no other on board the skeleton ship. 



man and 

her death- 
mate, and 



Her lips were reJ, her looks were 

free, 
Her locks were yellow as gold ; l^ll-^T 

Her skin was as white as leprosy : crew I 
The night-mare, Life-iu-Death, was 

she, 
"Who thicks man's blood with cold. 

The naked hulk alongside came, Death and 

, , . ,. ,. Liff-in- 

And the twam were castmg dice : Death 
' The game is done ! I 've won ! I 've \^^^ ^y 

^,Qj^ ! » the ship's 

crew, and 

Quoth she, and whistles thrice. she (the 

^ ' latter) 

winneth 
the ancient mariner. 



5Y8 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



No twi • 

lightwit?!' 
in the 
courts of 
the sun. 



The sun's rim dips, the stars rush 

out, 
At one stride comes the dark ; 
"With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, 
Off shot the spectre bark. 



At the lis- '\;\Tq listeued, and looked ddeways 

I Hi; ot the ' '' 

moon, up ,• 

Fear at my heart, as at a cup. 

My life-blood seemed to sip ; 

The stars were dim, and thick the 

night — 
The steersman's foce by his lamp 

gleamed white ; 
From the sails the dew did drip — 
Till clomb above the eastern bar 
The horned moon, with one bright 

star 
"Within the nether tip. 

Ouo after One after one, by the star-do2rc;ed 
another ' °° 



moon, 
Too quick for groan or sigh. 
Each turned his face with a 

pang. 
And cursed me with his eye. 



ghastly 



Iiis ship- Four tmies fifty living men, 

mates / a i t i i • i .s 

dropdown (And 1 lieard nor sigh nor groan!) 
^'""^- With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 
They dropped down one by one. 



But Life- The souls did from their bodies fly,- 
begins her They fled to bliss or woe ! 
the' an"^ -^"<^^ ^^^^^T ^0"^ it passed me by, 
cient mar- jji^g the whizz of mv cross-bow ! " 

iner. 



The wed- " I FEAK thee, ancient mariner ! 
fe'arefh"'*'^ I fear thy skinny hand ! 
^^Jf;\a.^ And thou art lonj 
tiilkins to brown. 

As is the ribbed sea-sand. 



and lank, and 



liiiu. 



I fear thee and thy glittering eye. 

And thy skinny hand so brown." — 

Buttho "Fear not, fear not, thou wedding- 
ancient ' ° 

mariner gUest! 

him of his This body dropt not down. 

bodily life, 

!Uid procoedcth to relate his horrible penance. 



Alone, alone, all, all alone. 
Alone on a wide, wide sea ! 
And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agony. 

The many men, so beautiful ! 
And they all dead did lie ; 
And a thousand thousand 

things 
Lived on — and so did I. 

I looked upon the rotting sea, 
And drew my eyes away ; 
I looked upon the rotting deck. 
And there the dead men lay. 



lie do- 

spiseth 
the crea- 

''^"'v the calia 



And en- 
vied that 
they 
sliould 
live, and 
PC many 
lie dead. 



I looked to heaven, and tried to pray ; 
But or ever a prayer had gusht 
A wicked whisper came, and made 
My heart as dry as dust. 

I closed my lids, and kept them close, 

And the balls like pulses beat ; 

For the sky and the sea and the sea 

and the sky 
Lay like a load on my Aveary eye, 
And the dead were at my feet. 

The cold SAveat melted from their But the 

Vu-nha. curse liv- 

limDS — gth for 

'Nov rot nor reek did they : ^"^^ '?i^c 

•' ' eye ot the 

The look with which they looked on fieaJ meu. 

me 
Had never passed away. 

An orphan's curse would drag to hell 
A spirit from on higli ; 
But oh! more horrible than that 
Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! 
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that 

curse — 
And yet I could not die. 



The moving moon went up the sky, in his 
And nowhere did abide ; amf nxol- 

Softly she was going up, y^anu^h 

And a star or two beside — towards 

thejour- 
neyinii 
moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still niove on- 
ward ; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, 
and is their appointed rest, and their native country, and 
their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, 
Hi lords that are certainly expected ; and yel there is a 
silent joy at their arrival. 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



579 



Her beams bcmocked the sultry 

main, 
Like April hoar-frost spread ; 
But where the ship's huge shadow 

lay 
The charmed water burnt alway, 
A still and awful red. 

v.y the Beyond the shadow of the ship 
iitthtof -r ■■ -. , , 

tho moon 1 watched the water-snakes ; 

ctii Go'i's" They moved in tracks of shining 

creatures white; 

of the ' 

ercat And when they reared, the elfish 
caiiu. T t J 

light 

Fell off in hoary flakes. 

Within the shadow of the ship 
I watched their rich attire — 
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black. 
They coiled and swam; and every 

track 
Was a flash of golden fire. 



The;7 

bcir.ty 

anj their Their beauty might declare ; 



Oh happy living things ! no tongue 



b&ppiness. 



lie bless- 
etb them 
in his 
heart 



A spring of love gushed from my 

heart, 
And I blessed them unaware — 
Sure my kind saint took pity on me, 
And I blessed them unaware. 



The spell The selfsame moment I could pray ; 

bcL'insto . , o 1 ^ 

break. And irom my neck so free 

The albatross fell off, and sank 
Like lead into the sea. 



Oh sleep ! it is a gentle thing, 
Beloved from pole to pole ! 
To Mary Queen the praise be given! 
She sent the gentle sleep from hea- 
ven 
That slid into my soul. 



By ffrace The siliy buckets on the deck, 

olt lie holy ■' ' 

M<ithtr, Ihat had so long remained, 

cient mar. ^ dreamt that they were fiUed with 

Inerisre- dcnv 

freshe.I "^^^' 

With rain. And when I awoke, it rained. 



lie hcar- 

eth sounds 
and seeth 
strange 
sights ai 
commo- 
tions in 
the sky 
and the 
element- 



My lips were wet, my throat was 

cold. 
My garments all were dank ; 
Sure I had drunken in my dreams, 
And still my body drank. 

I moved, and could not feel my limbs ; 
I was so light — almost 
I thought that I had died in sleep. 
And was a blessed ghost. 

And soon T heard a roaring wind- 
It did not come anear ; 
But with its sound it s 
That were so thin and sere. 

The upper air burst into life ; 
And a hundred fire-flags sheen. 
To and fro they were hurried about ; 
And to and fro, and in and out, 
The Avan stars danced between. 

And tlie coming wind did roar more 

loud, 
And the sails did sigh like sedge ; 
And the rain poured down from one 

black cloud — 
The moon was at its edge. 



The thick black cloud was cleft, and 

still 
The moon was at its side ; 
Like waters shot from some high 

crag. 
The lightning fell with never a jag — ■ 
A river steep and wide. 



The loud wind never reached theihebod- 

1- iesoftho 

S"1P) ships 

Yet now the ship moved on ! ?''e^Y ^'■« 

'■ inspired, 

Beneath the lightning and the moon and the 

The dead men gave a groan. moves on ■ 



They groaned, they stirred, they all 

uprose — 
For spake, nor moved their eyes ; 
It had been strange, even in a dream. 
To have seen those dead men rise. 



580 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



But not 

by the 
souls of 
the men, 
nor by de- 
mons of 
earth or 
middle air, 
but by a 
blessed 
troop of 
angelic 
Bpirits, 
sent down 
by the in- 
V ocatlon 
of the 
juardian 
saint. 



The helmsmau steered, the ship 

moved on; 
Yet never a breeze up blew ; 
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, 
Where they were wont to do ; 
They raised their limbs like lifeless 

tools 

We were a ghastly crew. 

The body of my brother's son 
Stood by me, knee to knee ; 
The body and I jDuUed at one rope, 
But he said naught to me." 

"I fear thee, ancient mariner! " 
"Be culm, thou wedding-guest! 
'Twas not those souls that fled in 

pain, 
Which to their corses came again, 
But a troop of spirits blest ; 
For when it dawned they dropped 

their arms, 
And clustered round the mast ; 
Sweet sounds rose slowly through 

their mouths, 
And from their bodies passed. 

Around, around flew each sweet 

sound. 
Then darted to the sun ; 
Slowly the sounds came back again — 
Now mixed, now one by one. 

Sometimes, a-droppiug from the sky, 
I heard the sky-lark sing; 
Sometimes all little birds that are — 
How they seemed to fill the sea and 

air 
With their sweet jargoning ! 

And now 't was like all instruments, 
Now like a lonely flute ; 
And now it is an angel's song, 
That makes the heavens be mute. 

It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 

A pleasant noise till noon — 

A noise like of a hidden brook 

In the leafy month of June, 

That to the sleeping woods all night 

Singeth a quiet tune. 



Till noon we quietly sailed on, 
Yet never a breeze did breathe ; 
Slowly and smoothly v/ent the ship, 
Moved onward from beneath. 

Under the keel, nine fathom deep. 
From the land of mist and snow 
The spirit slid ; and it was he 
That made the ship to go. 
The sails at noon left off their tune. 
And the ship stood still also. 

The sun, right up above the mast, 
Had fixed her to the ocean ; 
But in a minute she 'gan stir, 
With a short uneasy motion — 
Backwards and forwards half her 

length. 
With a short uneasy motion. 

Then like a pawing horse let go, 
She made a sudden bound — 
It flung the blood into my head, 
And I fell down in a swound. 



Tho loDh- 
somo spi- 
rit from 
the south- 
polo car- 
ries on tht 
ship as far 
ns the line 
In obedi- 
ence to 
the angel- 
ic troop ; 
but still 
requireth 
vengeance 



How long in that same fit I lay 
I have not to declare ; 
But ere my living life returned 
I heard, and in my soul discerned. 
Two voices in the air : 

'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the 

man ? 
By him who died on cross. 
With his cruel bow he laid full low 
The harmless albatross ! 

The spirit who bideth by himself 

In the land of mist and snow, 

He loved the bird that loved the 

man 
Who shot him with his bow.' 

The other was a softer voice, 

As soft as honey-dew : 

Quoth he, 'The man hath penance 

done, 
And penance more will do.' 



The polar 

spirit's 
fellow do 
mons, the 
invisible 
inhabi- 
tants of 
the clo- 
nieut, t:;ke 
part in his 
wrong; 
and two of 
them re- 
late, one 
to the 
other, that 
penance, 
long and 
heavy for 
the an- 
cient mar- 
iner, hath 
been ac- 
corded to 
the polar 
spirit, who 
retnrneth 
southward 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



581 



FIEST VOICE. 

' But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 
TLy soft response renewing — 
What makes that ship drive on so 

fast? 
What is the ocean doing ? ' 

SECOXD VOICE. 

' Still as a slave before his lord. 
The ocean hath no blast ; 
His great briglit eye most silently 
Up to the moon is cast — 

If he may know which way to go ; 
For she guides him smooth or grim. 
See, brother, see ! how graciously 
She looketh down on him.' 

FIRST VOICE. 

■ ' But why drives on that ship so fast, 
Without or wave or wind ? ' 

SECOND VOICE. 

' The air is cut away before, 
And closes from behind. 

Flv, brother, Hy ! more high, more 

high! 

Or we shall be belated ; 
For slow and slow that ship will go, 
When the mariner's trance is abated.' 



The su- I woke, and we were sailing on 
motion is As in a gentle weather ; 
the'mar-' 'T was night, caltn night — tlie moon 
was high ; 
The dead men stood together. 



And now this spell was snapt ; once 7^^ cnrso 
'■ '^ ' IS fanally 

more expiatwl. 

I viewed the ocean green, 

And looked far forth, yet little saw 

Of what had else been seen — 



The mari- 
ner hath 
been cast 
into 3 
irance;for 
the an- 
ixolic pow- 
er causeth 
the vessel 
to drive 
northward 
faster than 
human 
life could 
endure. 



iner 
awakes, 
and his 
enance 
ns 



begi 

BUOW. 



All stood together on the deck. 
For a charnel-dungeon fitter ; 
All fixed on me their stony eyes. 
That in the moon did glitter 

The pang, the curse, with which they 

died, 
Had never passed away ; 
I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 
Kor turn them up to pray. 



Like one that on a lonesome road 

Doth walk in fear and dread, 

And, having once turned round, 

walks on, 
And turns no more his head ; 
Because he knows a frightful fiend 
Doth close behind him tread. 

But soon there breathed a wind ou 

me, 
Nor sound nor motion made ; 
Its path was not upon the sea. 
In ripple or in shade. 

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek, 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 
It mingled strangely with my fears, 
Yet it felt like a welcoming. 

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 
Yet she sailed softly too ; 
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 
On me alone it blew. 

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed 
The light-house top I see? 
Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ? 
Is this mine own countree ? 

We drifted o'er the harbor-bar. 
And I with sobs did pray — 
Oh let me be awake, my God ! 
Or let me sleep alway. 

The harbor-bay was clear as glass. 
So smoothly it was strewn ! 
And on the bay the moonlight lay, 
And the shadow of the moon. 

The rock shone bright, the kirk no 

less 
That stands above the rock ; 
The moonlight steeped in siluutuess 
The steady weathercock. 



And tho 

ancient 

mariner 

beholdeth 

his native 

country. 



582 



POEMS OF THE IMAGIKATION. 



And the bay -was white with silent 

light 
Till, rising from the same, 
The ai]<rel- Full many shapes, that shadows 

ic spirits 

leave the were, 

(load bod- t • ^ 

ies, ill crmisou colors came. 

And ap- A little distance from the i^row 
tbeir mvn Those crimson shadows were ; 
u>^hr °* "'■ ^^''^^"^ ™y ^y^s upon the deck — 

Christ ! what saw I there ! 

Each corse lay flat, lifeloss and flat; 
And, by the holy rood ! 
A man all light, a seraph-man. 
On every corse there stood. 

This seraph-band, each waved liis 

hand — 
It was a heavenly sight! 
They stood as signals to the land, 
Each one a lovely light ; 

This seraph-band, each waved his 

hand ; 
No voice did they impart — 
No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank 
Like music on my heart. 

But soon I heard tlie dash of oars, 

1 heard the pilot's cheer ; 

My head was turned perforce away, 
And I saw a boat appear. 

The pilot and the pilot's boy, 
I heard them coming fast ; 
Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy 
The dead men could not blast. 

I saw a third — I heard his voice ; 

It is the hermit good! 

He singeth loud his godly hymns 

That he makes in tlie wood ; 

lie '11 shrieve my soul — he '11 wash 

away 
The albatross's blood. 

PART VII. 

The her- Tnis hermit good lives in that wood 

uiit of the ° , 

wood \Vhich slopes down to the sea. 

How loudly Ills sweet voice he rears ! 
He loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far countree. 



He kneels at morn, and noon, and 

eve — 
He hath a cushion plump; 
It is the moss that wholly hides 
The rotted old oak-stump. 

The skiif-boat neared — I heard them 

talk : 
' Why, this is strange, I trow ! 
Where are those lights, so many and 

fair, 
That sigiuil made but now?' 

' Strange, by my faith ! ' the hermit Approach 

eth the 
said — ship Mith 

'And they answered not our cheer ! ^"^ '''^' 
The planks looked warped ! and see 

those sails. 
How thin they are and sere ! 
I never saw aught like to them, 
Unless perchance it were 

BroAvn skeletons of leaves that isg 

My forest-brook along. 

When the ivy-tod is heavy with 

snow. 
And the owlet whoops to the wolf 

below. 
That eats the she-wolf's young.' 

' Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look,' 
The pilot made reply — 
'I am a-feared ' — ' Push on, push on ! ' 
Said the hermit cheerily. 

The boat came closer to the ship, 
But I nor spake nor stirred; 
Tlie boat came close beneath the ship, 
And straight a sound was heard : 



Under the water it rumbled on, 
Still louder and more dread ; 
It reached the ship, it split the bay— 
The ship went down like lead. 



Thp ship 
snddciiiy 
sinketh. 



Stunned by that loud and dreadful The an- 
cient mar- 
sound, iner is 

Which sky and ocean smote, the^piioft 

Like one that hath been seven days '^"'*'- 

drowned 
My body lay afloat ; 
But, swift as dreams, myself I found 
Within the pilot's boat. 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



583 



Upon tlie wliirl where sauk the ship 
The boat span round and round ; 
And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound. 

1 moved my lips — the pilot shrieked 
And fell down in a fit ; 
The holy hermit raised his eyes, 
And prayed where he did sit. 

I took tLe oars ; the pilot's boy, 

"Who now doth crazy go, 

Laughed loud and long ; and all the 

while 
His eyes w^ent to and fro : 
'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I 

see. 
The devil knows how to row.' 

And now, all in my own countree, 

I stood on the firm laud ! 

The hermit stepped forth from the 

boat, 
And scarcely he could stand. 



Tiie an- ' Qh shrieve me,- shrieve me, holy 

cu'nt mar- ' > ./ 

incr car- man ! • — 

troatoth The hermit crossed his brow : 

the her- ig^y quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee 



say— 



init to 

i-hrievo 

liiiii; and 

tiu> ptMi- What manner of man art thou ? ' 

aiicii oflife 
falls 0:1 
him. 

Forthwith this frame of mine was 

wrenched 
With a woful agony, 
Which forced me to begin my tale — 
And then it left me free. 



And ever Smce then, at an uncertain hour, 

and anon ^, 

throufih- That agony returns ; 

ui're Ufe^'And till my ghastly tale is told 

oonstram- ^Iiis ^leart within me burns. 

etli liim 
to travel 

to'iand. I pass, like night, from land to land ; 
I have strange power of speech ; 
That moment that his face I see 
I know the man that must hear me — 
To him my tale I teach. 



What loud uproar bursts from that 

door ! 
The wedding-guests are there ; 
But in the garden-bower the bride 
And bride-maids singing are ; 
And hark the little vesper bell. 
Which biddeth me to prayer ! 

wedding-guest! this soul hath 

been 
Alone on a wide, wide sea — 
So lonely 'twas, that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 

Oh sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
'T is sweeter far to me. 
To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company ! — 

To walk together to the kirk. 

And all together pray. 

While each to his great Father 

bends — 
Old men, and babes, and loving 

friends, 
And youths and maidens gay ! 

Farewell ! farewell ! but this I tell And to 

To thee, thou wedding-guest ! hirowu 

He prayeth well who loveth well i^^"'^ 

Both man and bird and beast. rcvortnce 

to all 
tbinK, 
that "God 

He prayeth best who loveth best mada and. 
All things both great and small ; 
For the dear God who loveth us. 
He made and loveth all." 

The mariner, whose eye is bright, 
Whose beard with age is hoar, 
Is gone. And now the wedding- 
guest 
Turned from the bridegroom's door. 



He w'ent like one that hath been 

stunned. 
And is of sense forlorn ; 
A sadder and a wiser man 
He rose the morrow morn, 

Samuel Taylor Colekidok, 



684 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION, 



KUBLA KIIAX. 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure-dome decree 
Whei"e Alph, the sacred river, ran, 
Through caverns measureless to man, 
Down to a sunless sea. 
So twice five miles of fertile ground 
With walls and towers were girdled round ; 
And there were gardens, bright with sinuous 

rills, 
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing 

tree ; 
And here were forests ancient as the hills, 
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm, which 

slanted 
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! 
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! 
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil 

seething, 
As if this earth in fast thick pants were 

breathing, 
A mighty fountain momently was forced. 
Amid whose swift, half-intermitted burst 
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail. 
Or chaify grain beneath the thresher's flail ; 
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and 

ever 
It flung up momently the sacred river. 
Five miles, meandering Avith a mazy motion 
Through wood and dale, the sacred river 

ran — 
Then reached tlie caverns measureless to man. 
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean ; 
And 'raid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
Ancestral voices prophesying war. 

The shadow of the dome of pleasure 
Floated midway on the waves. 
Where was heard the mingled measure 
From the fountain and the caves. 
It was a miracle of rare device — 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! 
A damsel with a dulcimer 
In a vision once I saw ; 



I was an Abyssmian maid. 
And on her dulcimer she played, 
Singing of Mount Abora. 
Could I revive within me 
Her symphony and song. 
To such a deep dehght 't would win me 
That, with music loud and long, 
I would build that dome in air — 
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
And all who heard should see them there, 
And all should cry. Beware ! beware 
His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
Weave a cirele round him thrice, 
And close your eyes with holy dread, 
For he on honey-dew hath fed. 
And drunk the milk of Paradise. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



THE RAVEN". 



^"''''---^. 



OxcE, upon a midnight dreary, while I pon- 
dered, weak and weary. 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of 
forgotten lore — 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly 
there came a tapping, 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at 
ray chamber door : 

" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at 
my chamber door — 

Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember ! it was in the 

bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its 

ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainiy I had 

tried to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow 

for the lost Lenore — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the 

angels name Lenore — 

Nameless here for evermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustUng of 

each purple curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors 

never felt before ; 



THE RAVEN. 



i85 



So that now, to still the beating of my heart, | Not the least obeisance made he ; not an in 



I stood repeating, 
" 'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamber door — 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamber door ; — 

This it is, and nothmg more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating 
then no longer, 

" Sir," said I, " or madam, truly your forgive- 
ness I implore ; 

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently 
you came rapping. 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at 
my chamber door. 

That I scarce was sure I heard you,"— here 
I opened wide the door : 

Darkness there, and nothing more ! 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood 
there wondering, fearing, 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever 
dared to dream before ; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the dark- 
ness gave no token. 

And the only word there spoken was the 
whispered word, "Lenore! " 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured 
back the word " Lenore ! " 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

' Tlien into the chamber turning, all my soul 
within me burning. 

Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat 
louder than before : 

" Sm-ely," said I, " surely that is something 
at my window lattice ; 

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this 
mystery explore — 

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mys- 
tery explore; — 

'T is the wind, and nothing more ! " 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with 

many a flirt and flutter. 
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly 

days of yore ; 

78 



stant stopped or stayed he ; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above 

my chamber door — 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my 

chamber door — 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. I 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy 
into smiling. 

By the grave and stern decorum of the coun- 
tenance it wore ; 

" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, 
thou," I said, "art sure no craven — 

Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandei-ing 
from the nightly shore — 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's 
Plutonian shore ! " 

Quoth the raven "Nevermore." 

Much I marvelled this ungamly fowl to hear 
discourse so plainly — 

Though its answer little meaning, little rele- 
vancy bore ; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living 
human being 

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above 
his chamber door — 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above 
his chamber door, 

"With such name as " Nevermore." 

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid 

bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word 

he did outpour. 
Nothing farther then he uttered— not a, 

feather then he fluttered — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other 

friends have flown before — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my liopes 

have flown before." 

Then the bird said, " Nevermore." 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so 

aptly spoken, 
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its 

only stock and store — 



580 



rOEMS OF THE IMAGINATION, 



Caught from soino unhappy master, whom 

unmerciful disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster, till his 

songs one burden bore — 
Till the dirges of his hope the melancholy 

burden bore 

Of ' Never — Nevermore.' " 



But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul 
into smiling. 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front 
of bird, and bust and door ; 

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook my- 
self to linking 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous 
bird of yore — 

"What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and 
ominous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking '"Nevermore." 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no sylla- 
ble expressing 

To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned 
into my bosom's core ; 

This, and more, I sat divining, Avith my head 
at ease reclining 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp- 
light gloated o'er ; 

But whose velvet violet lining, with the 
lamplight gloating o'er, 

She shall press — ah, never more ! 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, per- 
fumed from an unseen censer 

Swung by angeb, whose faint foot-falls tinkled 
on the tufted floor. 
^ " Wretch ! " I cried, " thy God hath lent thee, 
by these angels he hath sent thee. 

Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy 
memories of Lenore ! 

Quaff, oh quafl? this kind nepenthe, and for- 
get this lost Lenore ! " 

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 



" Propliet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet 

still, if bird or devil ! 
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest 

tossed thee here ashore — 



Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert 

land enchanted. 
On this home by horror haunted — tell me 

truly, I implore — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? tell me — 

tell me, I implore ! " 

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 



"Prophet! " said I, "thing of evil! — prophet 
still, if bird or devil ! 

By that heaven that bends above us — by that 
God we both adore — 

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, witliin tlie 
distant Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the an- 
gels name Lenore — 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the 
angels name Lenore." 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 



" Be that word our sign of parting, bird oi 

fiend ! " I shrieked, upstarting — 
" Get thee back into the tempest and the 

night's Plutonian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie 

thy soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness imbroken ! — quit the 

bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take 

thy form from off" my door ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 



And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, 
still is sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my 
chamber door ; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a de- 
mon's that is dreaming. 

And the lamplight, o'er him streaming, throws 
his shadow on the floor ; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies 
floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore! 

Edgar Allan Fob. 



THE FAIRY THORN. 



587 



THE FAIRY THORN. 

AS ULSTER BALLAD. 

"Get up, our Anna dear, from tlie weary 
spinning wheel : 
For your father 's on the hill, and your 
mother is asleep ; 
Come up above the crags, and we '11 dance a 
highland reel 
Around the fairy thorn on the steep." 

At Anna Grace's door 't was thus the maidens 
cried, 
Three merry maidens fair, in kirtles of the 
green ; 
And Anna laid the sock and the weary Avheel 
aside, 
Tlie fairest of the four, I ween. 

They 're glancing through tlie glimmer of the 
quiet eve, 
Away in n|ilky wavings of neck and ankle 
bare ; 
The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song 
they leave. 
And the crags in the ghostly air ; 

And linking hand in hand, and singing as 
they go, 
The maids along the hill-side have ta'en 
their fearless way, 
Till they come to where the rowan trees in 
lovely beauty grow 
Beside the Fairy Hawthorn gray. 

The hawthorn stands between the ashes tall 
and slim, 
Like matron with her twin grand-daughters 
at her knee ; 
The rowan berries cluster o'er her low head 
gray and dim 
In ruddy kisses sweet to see. 

Tlie merry maidens four have ranged them 
in a row. 
Between each lovely couple a stately rowan 
stem. 
And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds 
they go, 
Oh, never caroll'd bird like them ! 



But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze 
That drinks away their voices in echoless 
repose, 
And dreamily the evening has stilled the 
haunted braes. 
And dreamier the gloaming growa 

And sinking one by one, like lark-notes fro7n 
the sky 
When the falcon's shadow saileth across 
the open shaw. 
Are hush'd the maidens' voices, as cowering 
down they lie 
In the flutter of their sudden awe. 

Foi", from the air £.bove, and the grassy 
ground beneath, 
And from the mountain-ashes and the old 
white thorn between, 
A power of faint enchantment doth through 
their beings breathe. 
And they sink down together on the green. 

They sink together, silent, and stealing side 
by side. 
They fling their lovely arms o'er their 
drooping necks so fair. 
Then vainly strive again their naked arms to 
hide, 
For their shrinking necks again are bare. 

Thus clasp'd and prostrate all, with their 
heads together bow'd. 
Soft o'er their bosoms beating — the only 
human sound — 
They hear the silky footsteps of the silent 
fairy crowd. 
Like a river in the air, gliding round. 

Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can 
any say. 
But wild, wild, the terror of the speechless 
three. 
For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently 
away. 
By whom they dare not look tc see. 

They feel their tresses twine with her parting 
locks of gold. 
And the cui'ls elastic falling, as her head 
withdraws; 



<S^ 



588 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION, 



They feel her sliding arms from their tranced 
arms unfold, 
But they dare not look to see the cause : 

For heavy on their senses the faint enchant- 
ment lies 
Through all that night of anguish and 
perilous amaze ; 
And neither fear nor wonder can ope their 
quivering eyes 
Or their limbs from the cold ground raise. 

Till out of night the earth has rolled her 
dewy side, 
With every haunted mountain and streamy 
vale below; 
When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow 
morning-tide, 
The maidens' trance dissolveth so. 

Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they 
may, 
And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious 
friends in vain — 
They pined away and died within the year 
and day, 
And ne'er was Anna Grace seen again. 

Samuel Pekguson. 



THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER. 



As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, 

Under the grass as I lay so deep, 

As I lay asleep in my cotton serk 

Under the shade of Our Lady's kirk, 

I wakened up in the dead of night, 

I wakened up in my death-serk white, 

And I heard a cry from far away. 

And I knew the voice of my daughter May : 

" Mother, mother, come hither to me! 

Mother, mother, come hither and see! 

Mother, mother, mother dear. 

Another mother is sitting here : 

My body is bruised, and in pain I cry, 

On straw in the darkness afraid I lie ; 

I thirst and hunger for drink and meat, 

And mother, mother, to sleep Avere sweet ! " 

I heard the cry, though my grave was deep. 

And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep. 



I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep, 

Up I rose from my grave so deep ; 

The earth was black, but overhead 

The stars were yellow, the moon was red ; 

And I walked along all white and thin, 

And lifted the latch and entered in. 

And reached the chamber as dark as night, 

And though it was dark my face was white. 

" Mother, mother, I look on thee ! 

Mothei-, mother, you frighten me ! 

For your cheeks are thin, and your hair :a 



gray 



1 " 



But I smiled, and kissed her fears away, 
I smoothed lior hair and I sang a song. 
And on my knee I rocked her long : 
" O mother, mother, sing low to me; 
I am sleepy now, and I cannot see ! " 
I kissed her, but I could not weep. 
And she went to sleep, she went to sleep. 



As we lay asleep, as we lay asleep, 

My May and I, in our grave so deep. 

As we lay asleep in our midnight mirk. 

Under the shade of Our Lady's kirk, 

I wakened up in the dead of night. 

Though May my daughter lay warm and 

white. 
And I heard the cry of a little one. 
And I knew 't was the voice of Hugh my son : 
"Mother, mother, come hither to me ! 
Mother, mother, come hither and see ! 
Mother, mother, mother dear, 
Another mother is sitting here : 
My body is bruised and my heart is sad. 
But I speak my mind and call them bad ; 
I thirst and hunger night and day. 
And were I strong I would fly away! " 
I heard the cry, though my grave was deep. 
And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep, 



I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep, 
Up I rose from my grave so deep ; 
The earth was black, but overhead 
The stars were yellow, the moon was red; 
And I walked along all white and thin, 
And lifted the latch and entered in. 
"Mother, mother, and art thou here? 
I know your face, and I feel no fear ; 



THE DJINNS. 



5S0 



Raise me, mother, and kiss my check, 
For oh I am weary and sore and weak." 
I smoothed his hair with a mother's joy, 
An<l he lauft-hed aloud, my own brave boy ; 
I raised and held him on my breast, 
Sang him a song, and bade him rest. 
" Mother, mother, sing low to me ; 
I am sleepy now and I cannot see ! " 
I kissed him and I could not weep, 
As he went to sleep, as he went to sleep. 



As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, 

AVith my girl and boy in my grave so deep, 

As I lay asleep, I woke in fear, 

Awoke, but awoke not my children dear. 

And heard a cry so low and weak 

From a tiny voice that could not speak; 

I heard the cry of a little one, 

My bairn that could neither talk nor run, 

My little, little one, un caressed 

Starving for lack of the milk of the breast ; 

And I rose from sleep and entered in, 

And found my little one pinched and thin, 

And crooned a song and hushed its moan. 

And put its lips to my white breastbone ; 

And the red, red moon that lit the place 

Went white to look at the little face, 

And I kissed and kissed, and I could not 

weep, 
As it went to sleep, as it went to sleep. 



As it lay asleep, as it lay asleep, 
I set it down in the darkness deep. 
Smoothed its limbs and laid it out. 
And drevv the curtains around about ; 
Then into the dark, dark room lined 
Where he lay awake at the woman's side, 
And though the chamber was black as night, 
He saw my face, for it was so white ; 
I gazed in his eyes, and he shrieked in pain, 
And I knew he would never sleep again. 
And back to my grave Avent silently. 
And soon my baby was brought to me ; 
My son and daughter beside me rest, 
My Uttle baby is on my breast ; 
Our bed is warm, and our grave is deep. 
Bat he cannot sleep, he cannot sleep. 

KOBBUT Bnca.vNAN. 



THE DJINNS. 

Towx, tower, 
Shore, deep. 
Where lower 
Clouds steep ; 
Waves gray 
Where play 
Winds gay — 
All asleep. 

Hark ! a sound, 
Far and slight, 
Breathes around 
On the night — 
High and higher, 
Nigh and nigher, 
Like a fire 
Roaring bi-ight. 

Now on it is sweeping 
With rattling beat. 
Like dwarf imp leaping 
In gallop fleet ; 
He flies, he prances, 
In frolic fancies — 
On wave-crest dances 
AVith pattering feet. 

Hark, the rising swell, 
With each nearer burst ! 
Like tl'.e toll of bell 
Of a convent cursed ; 
Like the billowy roar 
On a storm-lashed shore — 
Now hushed, now once more 
Maddening to its worst. 

O God ! the deadly sound 
Of the djinns' fearful cry ! 
Quick, 'neath the spu-al round 
Of the deep staircase, fly ! 
See, see our lamplight fade ! 
And of the balustrade 
Mounts, mounts the circling shade 
Up to the ceiling high ! 

'Tis the djinns' wild-streaming swarm 
Whfsthng in their tempest-flight ; 
Snap the tall yews 'neath the storm, 
Like a pine-flame crackUng bright ; 



590 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Swift aud heavy, low, their crowd 
Through the heavens rushing loud ! — 
Like a lurid thunder-cloud 
With its bolt of fiery night! 

Ha! they are on us, close vi^ithout ! 
Shut tight the shelter where we lie ! 
With hideous din the monster rout. 
Dragon and vampire, fill the sky ! 
The loosened rafter overhead 
Trembles and bends like quivering reed ; 
Shakes the old door with shuddering dread, 
As from it's rusty hinge 'twould fly ! 

Wild cries of hell ! voices that howl and 

shriek ! 
The horrid swarm before the tempest tossed — 
heaven ! — descends my lowly roof to 

seek ; 
Bends the strong w^all beneath the furious 

host ; 
Totters the house, as though — like dry leaf 

shorn 
From autumn bough and on the mad blast 

borne — 
Up from its deep fecundations it were torn 
To join the stormy whirl. Ah ! all is lost ! 

jrrophet! if thy hand but now 

Save from these foul and hellish things, 

A pilgrim at thy shrine I '11 bow. 

Laden with pious offerings. 

Bid their hot breath its fiery rain 

Stream on my faithful door in vain, 

Vainly upon my blackened pane 

Grate the fierce claws of their dark wings! 

They have passed !— and their wild legion 
Cease to thunder at my door ; 
Fleeting through night's rayless region. 
Hither they return no more. 
Clanking chains and sounds of woe 
Fill the forests as they go ; 
And the tall oaks cower low. 
Bent their flaming flight before. 



On! on! the storm of wings 
Bears far the fiery fear, 
Till scarce the breeze now brings 
Dim murmurings to the ear ; 
Like locusts' humming hail, 
Or thrash of tiny flail 
Plied by the pattering hail 
On some old roof-tree near. 

Fainter now are borne 
Fitful murmurings still ; 
As, when Arab horn 
Swells its magic peal, 
Shorewai'd o'w the deep 
Fairy voices sweep. 
And the infant's sleep 
Golden visions fill. 

Each deadly djinn, 
Dark child of fright, 
Of death and sin. 
Speeds the wild flight. 
Hark, the dull moan ! . 
Like the de^p tone 
Of ocean's groan, 
Afar, by night ! 

More and more 
Fades it now, 
As on shore 
Ripples flow — 
As the plaint. 
Far aud faint, 
Of a saint, 
Murmured low. 

Hark! hist! 
Around 
I list ! 

The bounds 
Of space 
All trace 
Efface 
Of sound. 

Victor Hugo. (French.) 
Translation of John L. O'Sullivan. 



PART IX. 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



The snow-drop, and then the violet, 
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet ; 
And their breath was mixed with fresh odor, sent 
From the turf, like the voice and the instrument. 

Then the pied wind-flowers, and the tulip tall. 
And narcissi, the fairest among them all, 
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess 
Till they die of their own dear loveliness ; 

And the naiad-like lily of the vale, 
Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, 
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen 
Through their pavilions of tender green ; 

And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue, 
Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew 
Of music so delicate, soft, and intense. 
It was felt like an odor within the sense ; 

And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest. 
Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, 
Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air 
The soul of her beauty and love lay bare ; 

And the wand-like lily which lifted up, 
As a mcenad, its moonlight-colored cup, 
Till the fiery star, which is its eye, 
Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky ; 

And the jessamine faint,and the sweet tuberose, 
The sweetest flower for scent that blows ; 
And all rare blossoms from every clime 
Grew in that garden in perfect prime. 

Shellst. 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



"ALL EARTHLY JOY RETURNS m 
PAIN." 

Of Lentren in the first morning, 
Early as did the day up-spring, 
Thus sang ane bird with voice np-plain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

O man ! have mind that thou maun pass ; 
Remember that thou are but ass, [ashes,] 
And sail in ass return again : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Have mind that eild aye follows youth ; 
Death follows life with gaping mouth, 
Devouring fruit and flouring grain : 
All earthly joy returns inpain. 

Wealth, worldly gloir, and rich array. 
Are all but thorns laid in thy way, 
Covered with flowers laid in ane train : 
All earthly joy returns inpain. 

Come never yet May so fresh and green, 
But Januar come as wud and keen ; 
Was never sic drouth but anis come rain : 
All earthly joy returns inpain. 

Evormair unto this warld's joy, 
As nearest heir succeeds noy, 
Therefore when joy may not remain. 
His very heir succedis pain. 

Here health returns in seikness ; 
And mirth returns in heaviness ; 
Toun in desert, forest in plain : 
All earthly joy returns in-jjain. 
79 



Freedom returns in wretchedness, 
And truth returns in doubleness. 
With fenyeit words to mak men fain : 
All earthly joy returns inpain. 

Virtue returnis into vice, 
And honor into avarice ; 
With covetice is conscience slain : 
All earthly joy returns inpain. 

Sen earthly joy abidis never, 
Work for the joy that lasts forever ; 
For other joy is all but vain: 
All earthly joy returns inpain. 

WlLLTAM DCNBAE. 



THE LORDS OF THULE. 

The lords of Thule it did not please 

That Willcgis theii- bishop was ; 

For he was a wagoner's son. 

And they drew, to do him scorn. 

Wheels of chalk upon the wall ; 

He found them in chamber, found them in 
haU. 

But the pious Willegis 

Could not be moved to bitterness; 

Seeing the wheels upon the wall. 

He bade his servants a painter call ; 

And said,—" My friend, paiat now for me, 

On every wall, that I may see, 

A wheel of white in a field of red ; 

Underneath, in letters plain to be read — 
' Willegis, bishop now by name, 
Forget not whence you came ! ' " 



694 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND -REFLECTION. 



The lords of Tliule were full of shame — 
They wiped away their words of hlame ; 
For they saw that scorn and jeer 
Oiinnot wound the wise man's ear. 
And all the hishops that after him came 
Quartered the wheel with tlieir arms of fame. 
Thus came to pious Willegis 
Glory out of bitterness. 

Anonymous. (German.) 
Anonymous Translation. 



BAECLAY OF UKY. 

Up the streets of Aberdeen, 
By the kirk and college green, 

Rode the laird of Ury ; 
Close behind him, close beside, 
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed, 

Pressed the mob in fury. 

Flouted him the drunken churl, 
Jeered at him the serving girl, 

Prompt to please her master ; 
And the begging carlin, late 
Fed and clothed at Ury's gate. 

Cursed him as lie passed her. 

Yet witli calm and stately mien 
Up the streets of Aberdeen 

Came he slowly j-iding ; 
And, to all he saw and heard, 
Answering not with bitter word, 

Turning not for chiding. 

Came a troop with broadswords swinging, 
Bits and bridles sharply ringing. 

Loose, and free, and froward : 
Quoth the foremost, " Ride him down ! 
Push him! prick him! Through the 

town 
Drive the Quaker coward ! " 

But from out the thickening crowd 
Cried a sudden voice and loud : 

"Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!" 
And the old man at his side 
Saw a comrade, battle-tried, 

Scarred and sun-bnrned darkly ; 

"Who, with ready weapon bai-e, 
Fronting to the troopers there, 



. Cried aloud : " God save us ! 
Call ye coward him who stood 
Ankle-deep in Lutzen's blood, 
"With the brave Gustavus ? " 

" N"ay, I do not need thy sword, 
Comrade mine," said Ury's lord; 

"Put it up, I pray thee ; 
Passive to His holy will, 
Trust I in my Master still, 

Even though He slay me. 

" Pledges of thy love and faith, 
Proved on many a field of death. 

Not by me are needed." 
^larvelled much that henchman bold, 
That his laird, so stout of old, 

Now so meekly pleaded. 

" Woe 's the day," he sadly said, 
With a slowly-shaking head. 

And a look of pity ; 
"Ury's honest lord reviled. 
Mock of knave and sport of child, 

In his own good city ! 

" Speak the word, and, master mine, 
As we charged on Tilly's line. 

And his Walloon lancers, 
Smiting through their midst, we '11 teach 
Civil look and decent speech 

To these boyish prancera ! " 

" Marvel not mine ancient friend- 
Like beginning, like the end ! " 

Quoth the laird of Ury ; 
" Is the sinful servant more 
Than his gracious Lord who bore 

Bonds and stripes in Jewry ? 

" Give me joy that in Ilis name 
I can bear, with patient frame, 

All these vain ones offer ; 
While for them He suffered long, 
Sliall I answer wrong with wrong. 

Scoffing with the scoffer? 

"Happier I, with loss of all — 
Hunted, outlawed, licld in thrall. 

With few friends to greet me — 
Than when reeve and squire were seen 
Riding out from Aberdeen 

With bared heads to meet me ; 



HARMOSAN. 



595 



" "When each good wife, o'er and o'er, 
Blessed me as I passed her door ; 

And the snooded daughter, 
Through her casement glancing down, 
Smiled on him who bore renown 

From red fields of slaughter. 

" Hard to feel the stranger's scoif, 
Hard the old fi-iends' falling oif, 

Hard to learn forgiving ; 
But the Lord his own rewards. 
And his love with theirs accords 

Warm, and fresh, and living. 

*' Through this dark and stormy night 
Faith beholds a feeble light 

Up the blackness streaking ; 
Knowing God's own time is best. 
In a patient hope I rest 

For the full day-breakiug I " 

So the laird of Ury said, 
Turning slow his horse's head 

Towards the Tolbooth prison. 
Where, througli iron gates, he heard 
Poor disciples of the Word 

Preach of Christ arisen ! 

Not in vain, confessor old, 
Unto us the tale is told 

Of thy day of trial ! 
Every age on him, who strays 
From its broad and beaten ways, 

Pours its seven-fold vial. 

Happy he whose inward ear 
Angel comforfciags can hear, 

O'er the rabble's laughter ; 
And, while hatred's fogots burn, 
Glimpses through the smoke discern 

Of the good hereafter. 

Knowing this — that never yet 
Share of truth was vainly set 

In the world's wide fallow ; 
After hands shall sow the seed. 
After hands from hill and mead 

Eeap the harvests yellow. 
Thus, with somewhat of the seer, 
Must the moral pioneer 

From the future borrow — 
Clothe the waste with dreams of grain. 
And, on midnight's sky of rain, 

Paint the golden morrow ! 

John Gkeenleap "Whittier. 



HARMOSAK 

Xow the third and fatal conflict for the Per- 
sian throne was done, 

And tlie Moslem's fiery valor had tlie crown- 
ing victory won. 

Harmosan, the last and boldest the invader 

to defy, 
Captive, overborne by numbers, they were 

bringing forth to die. 

Then exclaimed that noble captive: "Lo, I 

perish in my thirst ; 
Give me but one drink of water, and let then 

arrive the worst ! " 

In his hand he took the goblet : but a while 
tlie draught forbore. 

Seeming doubtfully the purpose of the foe- 
man to explore. 

Well might then have paused the bravest — 
for, around him, angry foes 

With a hedge of naked weapons did that 
lonely man enclose. 

''But what fearest thou? " cried the caliph 
"■ is it, friend, a secret blow ? 

Fear it not! our gallant Moslems no such 
treacherous dealing know. 

" Thou may'st quench thy thirst securely, for 
thou shalt not die before 

Thou hast drunk that cup of water — this re- 
prieve is thine — no more! " 

Quick the satrap dashed the goblet down to 

earth with ready hand, 
And the liquid sank for ever, lost amid tlie 

burning sand. 

"Thou hast said that mine my life is, till the 

water of that cup 
I have drained ; then bid thy servants that 

spilled water gather up ! " 

For a moment stood the caliph as by doubt- 
ful passions stirred — 

Then exclaimed, " For ever sacred must re- 
main a monarch's word. 



596 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



" Bring another cup, and straightway to the 

noble Persian give : 
Drink, I said before, and perish — now I bid 

thee drink and live ! " 

EiciiARD Chenevix Tebnch. 



BALDER. 

Balder, the white sun-god, has departed! 

Beautiful as summer dawn was he ; 
Loved of gods and men — the royal-hearted 
Balder, the white sun-god, has departed — 

Has gone home Avhere all the brave ones be. 

For the tears of the imperial mother, 

For a universe that weeps and prays, 
Rides Hermoder forth to seek his brother — 
Rides for love of that distressful mother, 
Through lead-colored glens and cross-blue 
ways. 

With the howling wind and raving torrent, 

Nine days rode he, deep and deeper down — 
Reached the vast death-kingdom, rough and 

horrent. 
Reached the lonely bridge that spans the tor- 
rent 
Of the moaning river by Hell-town. 

There he found the ancient portress stand- 
ing— 

Vexer of the mind and of the heart : 
"Balder came this way," to his demanding 
Cried aloud that ancient portress, standing — 

"Balder came, but Balder did depart; 

' Here he could not dwell. He is down yon- 
der — 
Northward, further, in the death-realm he." 
Rode Hermoder on in silent wonder — 
Mane of Gold fled fast and rushed down yon- 
der! 
Brave and good musi young Hermoder be. 

For he leaps sheer over Hela's portal, 

Drops into tlie huge abyss below. 
There he saw the beautiful immortal — 
Saw him, Balder, under Hela's portal — 
Saw him, and forgot his nain and woe. 



" 0, my Balder ! have I, have I found thee— 

Balder, beautiful as summer morn ? 
0, my sun-god ! hearts of heroes crowned 

thee 
For their king ; they lost, but now have found 
thee; 
Gods and men shall not be left forlorn. 



"Balder! brother! the Divine has vanished— 

The eternal splendors all have fled ; 
Truth and love and nobleness are banished 
The heroic and divine have vanished ; 
Nature has no god, and earth lies dead. 

" Come thou back, my Balder — king and 
brother ! 
Teach the hearts of men to love the gods ! 
Come thou back, and comfort our great 

mother — 
Come with truth and bravery. Balder, bro- 
ther — 
Bring the godlike back to men's abodes ! '• 

But the Nomas let him pray unheeded — 

Balder never was to come again. 
Vainly, vainly young Hermoder pleaded — 
Balder never was to come. Unheeded, 
Young Hermoder wept and prayed in vain. 

Oh, the trueness of this ancient story! 

Even now it is, as it was then. 
Earth hath lost a portion of her glory ; 
And like Balder, in the ancient story, 

Never coiTies the beautiful again. 

Still the young Hermoder journeys bravely, 
Through lead-colored glens and cross-blue 
ways; 
Still he calls his brother, pleading gravely — 
Still to the deatli-kingdom ventures bravely — 
Calmly to the eternal terror prays. 

But the fates relent not ; strong endeavor, 
Courage, noble feeling, are in vain ; 

For beautiful has gone for ever. 

Vain are courage, genius, strong endeavor — 
Never comes the beautiful again. 



ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION. 



597 



Do you think I counsel weak deopairing? 

No ! like young Herraoder I would ride ; 
With an humble, yet a gallant daring, 
I would leap unquailing, undespairing, 

Over the huge precipice's side. 

Dead and gone is the old world's ideal, 
The old arts and old religion fled; 

But I gladly live amid the real, 

And I seek a worthier ideal. 

Courage, brothers, God is overhead ! 

Anonymous. 



ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BEL- 
ZONI'S EXHIBITION. 

And thou hast walked about, (how strange a 
story !) 

In Thebes' streets three thousand years ago, 
When the Meranonium was in all its glory. 

And time had not begun to overthrow 
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, 
Of which the very ruins are tremendous. 

Speak! for thou long enough hast acted 
dummy ; 
Thou hast a tongue — come — ^let us hear its 
tune ; 

Thou 'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, 
mummy ! 
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon — 

Not like thin ghosts or disembodied crea- 
tures. 

But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and 
features. 

Tell us — for doubtless thou canst recollect — 
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's 
fame ? 
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect 

Of either pyramid that bears his name ? 
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer ? 
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Ho- 
mer ? 

Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden 
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade — 

Then say what secret melody was hidden 
In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise 
played ? 



Perhaps thou wert a priest — if so, my strug- 
gles 

Arc vain, for priestcraft never owns its jug- 
gles. 

Perhaps that very hand, now pinioned flat. 
Has hob-o-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to 
glass i 

Or dropped a half-penny in Homer's hat ; • 
Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass; 

Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, 

A torch at the great temple's dedication. 

I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, 
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuclc- 
led; 
For thou wert dead, and buried, and em- 
balmed. 
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled ; 
Antiquity appears to have begun i 

Long after thy primeval race was run. 

Thou could'st develop — if that withered | 

tongue I 

Might tell us what those sightless orbs have ! 

seen — | 

How the world looked when it was fresh and j 

young, I 

And the great deluge still had left it green ; I 

Or was it then so old that history's pages { 

Contained no record of its early ages ? 

StiU silent! incommunicative elf! 

Art sworn to secrecy ? then keep thy vows ; 
But prythee tell us something of thyself— 
Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house ; 
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slum- 
bered — 
What hast thou seen — what' strange adven- 
tures numbered ? 

Since first thy form was in this bos extended 
We have, above ground, seen some strange 
mutations ; 

The Roman empire has begun and ended — 
New worlds have risen — we have lost old 
nations ; 

And countless kings have into dust beeu 
humbled. 

While not a fragment of thy flesh has crum- 
bled. ^ 



598 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, 


The one, with murmur and roar. 


When the great Persian conqueror, Cam- 


Bears fleets around coast and islet ; 


byses, 


The other, without a shore, 


Marched armies o'er thy tomb witli tliunder- 


Ne'er knew the track of a pilot. 


ing tread — 


John Steei.iho. 


O'erthrcAV Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis ; 




Ami shook the pyramids with fear and won- 
der, 
When the gigantic Memnou fell asunder? 




THE FISHEE'S COTTAGE. 


If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, 


We sat by the fisher's cottage, 


The nature of thy private life unfold : 


And looked at the stormy tide ; 


A heart has tlirobbed beneath that leathern 


The evening mist came rising, 


breast. 


And floating far and wide. 


And tears adown that dusty cheek have 




rolled ; 


One by one in the light-house 


Have children climbed those knees, and kissed 


The lamps shone out on high ; 


that face ? 


And far on the dim horizon 


"What was tliy name and station, age and 


A ship went sailing by. 


race ? 




Statue of flesh — Immortal of the dead ! 


We spoke of storm and shipwreck— 


Imperishable type of evanescence ! 


Of sailors, and how they live ; 


Posthumous man — who quitt'st thy narrow 


Of journeys 'twixt sky and water, 


bed, 


And the sorrows and joys they give. 


And standest undecayed within our pres- 




ence! 


We spoke of distant countries, 


Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment 


In regions strange and fair ; 


morning. 


And of the wondrous beings 


When the great trump shall thrill thee with 


And curious customs there : 


its warning. 




Why should this worthless tegument endure. 
If its undying guest be lost for ever ? 

Oh ! let us keep the soul embalmed and pure 
In living virtue — that when both must sever, 


Of perfumed lamps on the Ganges, 


Which are launched in the twilight hour; 


And the dark and silent Brahmins, 
Who worship the lotus flower. 


Although corruption may our frame consume. 




The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom ! 


Of the wretched dwarfs of Lapland — ■ 


IIoEACK Smith. 


Broad-headed, wide-mouthed and small— 




Who crouch round their oil-fires, cooking, 
And chatter and scream and bawl. 


♦ 


THE TWO OCEANS. 


And the maidens earnestly listened, 




Till at last we spoke no more ; 


Two seas, amid the night, 


The ship like a shadow had vanished. 


In the moonshine roll and sparkle — 


And darkness fell deep on the shore. 


Now spread in the silver light, 


Henry Heine (German). 


Now sadden, and wail, and darkle ; 


Translation of Chables G. Leland. 


The one has a billowy motion. 




And from land to land it gleams ; 




The other is sleep's wide ocean, 




And its glimmering waves are dreams : 





ABOU BEN AD HEM. 



599 



VERSES 

GUPPOSED TO BE WEITTEN' BY ALEXANDER SEL- 
KIRK, DURIXG niS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE 
ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ. 

I AM montircli of all I survey — 
My right there is none to dispute ; 

From the centre all round to the sea, 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

Solitude ! where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thy face ? 

Better dwell in the midst of alarms 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach ; 

I must finish my journey alone, 
Never hear the sweet music of speech — 

I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts that roam over the plain 

My form with indifference see ; 
They are so unacquainted with man, 

Their tameness is shocking to mc. 

Society, friendship, and love, 

Divinely bestowed upon man! 
Oh, had I the wings of a dove, 

How soon would I taste you again ! 
My sorrows I then might assuage 

In the ways of religion and truth- 
Might learn from the wisdom of age. 

And be cheered by the sallies of youth. 

Eeligion ! "What treasure untold 

Resides in that heavenly word ! — 
More precious than silver and gold, 

Or all that this earth can afford ; 
But the sound of the church-guing bell 

These valleys and rocks never heard, 
Never sighed at the &t)und of a knell, 

Or smiled when a sabbath appeared. 

Ye winds that have made me your sport. 

Convey to this desolate shore 
Some cordial endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more ! 
My friends — do the}' now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me ? 
Oh tell me I yet have a friend, 

Though a friend I am never to see. 



IIow fleet is a glance of the mind ! 

Compared with the speed of its flight, 
The tempest itself lags behind, 

And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
When I think of my own native land, 

In a moment I seem to be there ; 
But, alas ! recollection at hand 

Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest. 

The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
Even here is a season of rest. 

And I to my cabin repair. 
There 's mercy in every place, 

And mercy — encouraging thought ! — 
Gives even affliction a grace, 

And reconciles man to his lot. 

William Cowpeb. 



ABOU BEN ADEEM. 

Aeou Ben Adheji (may his tribe increase !) 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw witliin the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold : 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. 
And to the presence in tlie room he said, 
"What writest thou?" — The vision raised its 

head. 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 
Answered — " The names of those who love 

the Lord." 
"And is mine one?" saidAbou; "Nay, not 

so," 
Replied the angel. — Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerly still ; and said, " I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next 

night 
It came again, with a great wakening light. 
And showed the names whom love of God 

had blessed — 
And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ! 

LEIGn ntJNT. 



600 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND KEFLECTION. 



THE STEAMBOAT. 

See how yon flaming herald treads 

The ridged and rolling waves, 
As, crashing o'er their crested heads, 

She bows her snrly slaves ! 
With foam before and fire behind, 

She rends the clinging sea, 
That flies befoi-e the roaring wind, 

Beneatli her hissing lee. 

The morning spray, like sea-born flowers 

With heaped and glistening bells, 
Falls round her fast in ringing showers, 

With every wave that swells ; 
And, flaming o'er the midnight deep, 

In lurid fringes thrown. 
The living gems of ocean sweep 

Along her flashing zone. 

With clashing wheel, and lifting keel. 

And smoking torch on high. 
When winds are loud, and billows reel. 

She thunders, foaming, by ! 
When seas are silent and serene 

With even beam she glides, 
TJie sunshine glimmeriug through the green 

That skirts her gleaming sides. 

Now, like a wild nymph, far apart 

She veils her shadowy form, 
The beating of her restless heart 

Still sounding through the storm ; 
Now answers, like a courtly dame. 

The reddening surges o'er, 
With flying scarf of spangled flame, 

The pharos of the shore. 

To-night yon pilot shall not sleep, 

Who trims his narrowed sail ; 
To-night yon frigate scarce shall keep 

Her broad breast to the gale ; 
And many a foresail, scooped and strained, 

Shall break from yard and stay. 
Before this smoky wreath hath stained 

The rising mist of day. 

Hark ! hark ! I hear yon whistling shroud, 

I see yon quivering mast — 
The black throat of the hunted cloud 

Is panting forth the blast ! 



An hour, and, whirled like winnowing chafr' 

The giant surge shall fling 
His tresses o'er yon pennon-stafi', 

White as the sea-bird's wing ! 

Yet rest, ye wanderers of the deep ! 

Nor wind nor wave shall tire 
Those fleshless arms, whose pulses leap 

With floods of living fire ; 
Sleep on — and when the morning light 

Streams o'er the shining bay, 
Oh, think of those for Avhom the ni';-ht 

Shall never wake in day ! 

Oliver "Wendell Holmes. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

Under a spreading chestnut tree 

The village smithy stands : 
The smith — a mighty man is he. 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat — 

He earns whate'er he can ; 
And looks the whole world in the face. 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night. 
You can hear his bellows blow; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow — 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell. 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children, coming home from school, 

Look in at the open door ; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks, that fly 

Like chafli'from a threshing floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church. 
And sits among his boys ; 



THE SONG OF THE FORGE. 



60] 



He hears the parson pray and preach — 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice. 

Singing in Paradise ! 
lie needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And ■with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing — 
Onward through life he goes ; 

Each morning sees some task begin, 
Each evening sees it close — 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a niglit's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
For the lesson thou hast taught ! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrouglit — 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought ! 

Henry Wadswoeth Longfellow. 



THE SONG OF THE FOEGE. 

Clang, clang! the massive anvils ring; 

Clang, clang ! a hundred hammers swiag — 

Like the thunder-rattle of a tropic sky, 

The mighty blows still multiply — 

Clang, clang ! 

Say, brt)thers of the dusky brow. 

What are your strong arms forging now ? 

Clang, clang ! — we forge the coulter now — 
The coulter of the kindly plough. 
Sweet Mary mother, bless our toil ! 
May its broad furrow still unbind 
To genial rains, to sun and wind, 
The most benignant soil ! 

01?.ng, clang ! — our coulter's course shall be 
On many a sweet and sheltered lea, 
By many a streamlet's silver tide — 
Amidst the song of morning birds. 
Amidst the low of sauntering herds — 
80 



Amidst soft breezes, which do stray 
Through woodbine hedges and sweet May, 
Along the green hill's side. 

When regal autumn's bounteous hand 
With wide-spread glory clothes the land — 
When to the valleys, from the brow 
Of each resplendent slope, is rolled 
A ruddy sea of living gold — 
We bless, we bless the plough. 

Clang, clang ! — again, my mates, what g.ow3 
Beneath the hammer's potent blows ? 
Clink, clank ! — we forge the giant chain. 
Which bears the gallant vessel's strain 
'Midst stormy winds and adverse tides ; 
Secured by this, the good ship braves 
The rocky roadstead, and the waves 
Which thunder on her sides. 

Anxious no more, the merchant sees 
The mist drive dark before the breeze. 
The storm-cloud on the hill ; 
Calmly he rests — though far away, 
In boisterous climes, his vessel lay — 
Reliant on our skill. 

Say on what sands these links shall sleep, 
Fathoms beneath the solemn deep ? 
By Afric's pestilential shore ; 
By many an iceberg, lone and hoar ; 
By many a palmy western isle, 
Basking in spring's perpetual smile ; 
By stormy Labrador, 

Say, shall they feel the vessel reel, 

When to the battery's deadly peal 

The crashing broadside makes reply ; 

Or else, as at the glorious Nile, 

Hold grappling ships, that strive the while 

For death or victory ? 

Hurrah ! — cling, clang ! — once more, what 

glows. 
Dark brothers of the forge, beneath 
The iron tempest of your blows. 
The furnace's red breath ? 

Clang, clang ! — a burning torrent, clear 
And brilliant of bright sparks, is poured 



1302 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Arcmiid, arid up in the dusky air, 
As our hammers forge the sowrd. 

The t-word ! — a name of dread ; yet \yhen 
Upon the freeman's thigh 'tis bound — 
Wliile for his altar and his hearth, 
While for the land that gave him birth. 
The war-drums roll, the trumpets sound — 
How sacred is it then ! 

Whenever for the truth and right 
It flashes in the van of fight — 
Whether in some wild mountain pass. 
As that where fell Leonidas ; 
Or on some sterile plain and stern, 
A Marston, or a Bannoekburn ; 
Or amidst crags and bursting rills, 
The Switzer's Alps, gray Tyrol's hills ; 
Or, as when sunk the Armada's pride. 
It gleams above the stormy tide — 
Still, still, whene'er the battle word 
Is liberty, when men do stand 
For justice and their native land- 
Then heaven bless the sword ! 

Anontuous. 



THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 

Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged! 't,is 

at a white heat now — 
The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; 

though, on the forge's brow. 
The little flames still fltfully play through the 

sable mound ; 
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths 

ranking round ; 
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad 

hands only bare, 
Some rest upon their sledges here, some work 

the windlass there. 

The windlass strains the tackle-chains — the 
black mould heaves below ; 

And red and deep, a hundred veins burst out 
at every throe. 

It rises, roars, rends all outright — O, A'^ulcan, 
what a glow ! 



'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright — the 

high sun shines not so ! 
The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery 

fearful show ! 
The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, tho 

ruddy lurid row 
Of smiths — that stand, an ardent band, like 

men before the foe ! 
As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the 

sailing monster slow 
Sinks on the anvil — all about, the faces fiery 

grow : 
" Hurrah ! " they shout, "leap out, leap out! " 

bang, bang! the sledges go ; 
Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high 

and low; 
A hailing fount of fire is struck at every 

squashing blow ; 
The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rat- 
tling cinders strew 
The ground around; at every bound the 

sweltering fountains flow ; 
And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at 

every stroke pant " ho ! " 
Leap out, leap out, my masters ! leap out, and 

lay on load ! 
Let 's forge a goodly anchor — a bower thick 

and broad ; 
For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, 

I bode ; 
And I see the good ship riding, all in a peril- 
ous road — 
The low reef roaring on her lea ; the roll of 

ocean poured 
From stem to stern, sea after sea ; the main- 
mast by the board ; 
The bulwarks down ; the rudder gone ; the 

boats stove at the chains ; 
But courage still, brave mariners — the bower 

yet remains ! 
And not an inch to flinch he deigns — save 

when ye pitch sky high ; 
Then moves his head, as though he said, 

"Fear nothing — here am I! " 

Swing in your strokes in order! let foot and 

hand keep time ; 
Your blows make music sweeter far than 

any steeple's chime. 
But while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and 

let the burthen be. 



THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 



603 



The anchor is the anvil king, and royal crafts- 
men we ! 

Strike in, strike in ! — the si:)arks begin to dull 
their rustling red ; 

Our hammers ring with sharper din — onr 
work will soon be sped ; 

Our anclior soon must change his bed of fiery 
rich array 

For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an 
oozy couch of clay .; 

Our anchor soon must change the lay of mer- 
ry craftsmen here 

For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave-away, 
and the sighing seamen's cheer — 

When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far 
from love and home ; 

And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er 
the ocean foam. 

In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down 
at last ; 

A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from 
cat was cast. 

trusted and trustworthy guard! if thou 
hadst life like me, 

What pleasures would thy toils reward be- 
neath the deep green sea ! 

O deep sea-diver, who might then behold 
such sights as thou ? — 

The hoary monster's palaces! — He thinks 
what joy 'twere now 

To go plumb-plunging down, amid the assem- 
bly of the whales, 

And feel the churned sea round me boil be- 
neath theii scourging tails ! 

Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce 
sea-unicorn, 

And send him foiled and bellowing back, foi- 
all his ivory horn ; 

To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade 
forlo-rn ; 

Acd for the ghastly-gi'inning shark, to laugh 
his jaws to scorn ; 

To leap down on the kraken's back, where 
'mid Norwegian isles 

He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shal- 
lowed miles — 

Till, snorting like an under-sea volcano, ofl:' 
he rolls; 

Meanwhile to swing, a-bufl:eting the far 
astonished shoals 



Of his back-browsing ocean-calves ; or, hap- 
ly, in a cove 

Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some 
Undine's love. 

To find the long-haired mermaidens ; or, hard 
by icy lands. 

To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon ceru- 
lean sands. 

O broad-armed fisher of the deep ! whose 

sports can equal thine ? 
The dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that 

tugs thy cable line ; 
And night by night 't is thy delight, thy glory 

day by day. 
Through sable sea and breaker white the giant 

game to play. 
But, shamer of our little sports ! forgive the 

name I gave : 
A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine office is to 

save. 
lodger in the sea-kings' halls ! couldst thou 

but understand 
Whose be the white bones by thy side — or 

who that dripping band. 
Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that 

round about thee bend, 
With sounds like breakers in a dream bless- 
ing their ancient friend — 
Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with 

larger steps round thee. 
Thine iron side would swell with pride — 

thou 'dst leap within the sea ! 

Give honor to their memories who left the 

pleasant strand 
To shed their blood so freely for the love of 

father-land — 
Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy 

churchyard grave 
So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing 

wave ! 
Oh, though our anchor may not be all 1 ha\ - 

fondly sung. 
Honor him for their memory whose bones he 

goes among ! 

Samuel Ferguson. 



604 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 

Our bugles sang truce ; for the niglit-cloud 
had lowered, 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in 
the sky ; 
And thousands had sunk on the ground over- 
powered — 
The weary to slecj"), and the wounded to 
die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of 
straw, 
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the 
slain, 
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it 
again. 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful 
array 
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 
'Twas autumn — and sunshine arose on the 
way 
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed 
me back. 

I tlew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 
In life's morning march, when my bosom 
was young ; 
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating 
aloft. 
And knew the sweet strain that the corn- 
reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I 
swore • 
From my home and my weeping friends 
never to part; 
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, 
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fuluess 
of heart. 

Stay, stay with us ! — rest ; thou art weary and 

worn! — 

And fain was their war-broken soldier to 

stay; 

But sorrow returned with the dawning of 

i)"-rn. 

And the voice in my dreaming ear melted 

away. 

Thomas Caupsell. 



THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 



It was a summer evening — 
Old Kaspar's work was done. 

And he before his cottage door 
Was sitting in the sun ; 

And by Lim sported on the green 

His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 



She saw her bi-other Peterkin 
Roll something large and round. 

Which he beside the rivulet. 
In playing there, had found ; 

He came to ask what ho had found. 

That was so large, and smooth, and round. 



Old Kaspar took it from the boy, 

AVho stood expectant by ; 
And then the old man shook his head, 

And, with a natural sigh — 
" 'T is some poor fellow's skuU," said be, 
" Who fell in the great victory. 



"I find them in the garden. 
For there 's many here about ; 

And often when I go to plough, 
The ploughshare turns them out ; 

For many thousand men," said he, 

" Were slain in the great victory." 



"NoAv tell us what 't was all about," 

Young Peterkin he cries ; 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

WMth wonder-waiting eyes — 
"Now tell us all about the war, 
And what they fought each other for." 

VI. 

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
" Who put the French to rout; 

But what they fought each other for 
I could not well make out ; 

But every body said," quoth he, 

" That 't was a famous victory. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 



605 



" My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by ; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 

And he was forced to fly ; 
So with his wife and child he fled, 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 



" With fire and sword the country round 

"Was wasted far and wide ; 
And many a childing mother there. 

And new-born baby died; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 



" They say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won — 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun ; 
But things like tliat, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 



'' Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, 
And our good Prince Eugene." 

" Why, 't was a very wicked thing ! " 
Said little Wilhelraine. 

"Nay — nay — my little girl ! " quoth he, 

*' It was a famous victory. 



•'And everybody praised the duke, 
Who this great fight did win." 

"But what good came of it at last? " 
Quoth little Peterkin. 

" Why, that I cannot tell," said he; 

" But 't was a famous victory." 

Robert Southev. 



VICTOPJOUS MEN OF EARTH. 

Victorious men of earth, no more 
Proclaim how wide your empires are : 

Though you bind in every shore. 
And your triumphs reach as far 



As night or day. 
Yet you proud monarchs must obey. 
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
Death calls ye to the crowd of common 
men. 

Devouring famine, plague, and war. 

Each able to undo mankind, 

Death's servile emissaries are ; 

Nor to these alone confined — 

He hath at will 

More quaint and subtle ways to kill: 

A smile or kiss, as he will use the art. 

Shall have the cunning skill to break a 

heart. 

James Shiklet. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 

This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling. 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; 

But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles the villages with strange alarms. 

Ah ! what a sound will rise — ^liow Avild and 
dreary — 
When the death-angel touches those swift 
keys ! 
What loud lament and dismal miserere 
Will mingle with their awful symphonies! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorps— 
The cries of agony, the endless groan. 

Which, through the ages that have gone be- 
fore us, . 
In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon ham- 
mer; 
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norse- 
man's song ; 
And loud, amid the universal clamor. 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 

I hear tlie Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful 
din ; 
And Aztec priests upon their tedoallis 

Beat tlie wild war-drums made of serpents' 
skin ; 



006 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The tumult of each sacked and burning vil- 
lage; 
The shout that every prayer for mercy 
drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage ; 
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched 
asunder, 

The rattling musketry, the clashing blade — 
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 

The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, 
With such accursed instruments as these. 

Thou drownest nature's sweet and kindly 
voices. 
And jarrest the celestial harmonies ? 

Were half the power that fills the world with 
terror, 
Were half the weal-th bestowed on camps 
and courts, 
Given to redeem the human mind from error, 
There were no need of arsenals nor forts ; 

The warrior's name would be a name ab- 
horred ; 
And every nation that should lift again 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 
Would wear forevermore the curse of 
Cain ! 

Down the dark future, through long genera- 
tions. 
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then 
cease ; 
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 
I hear once more the voice of Christ say, 
"Peace!" 

Peace ! — and no longer from its brazen portals 
The blast of war's great organ shakes the 
skies ; 
But, beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 

IIenrt Wadswckth Longfellow. 



THE BUCKET. 

How dear to this heart are the scenes of mj 

childhood. 
When fond recollection presents them to 

view ! — 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled 

wildwood, 
And every loved spot which my infancy knew ! 
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that 

stood by it ; 
The bridge, and the rock where the cata- 
ract fell ; 
The cot of my father, the dairy -house nigh it ; 
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the 

well— 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. 
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the 

well. 

That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treas- 
ure ; 

For often at noon, when returned from the field, 

I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure — 

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 

How ardent I seized it, with hands that were 
glowing. 

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ! 

Then soon, with the emblem of truth over- 
flowing, 

And dripping with coolness, it rose from 
the well — 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. 

The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green, mossy brim to re- 
ceive it, 

As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! 

Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to 
leave it. 

The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. 

And now, far removed from the loved habi- 
tation, 

The tear of regret will intrusively swell. 

As fancy reverts to my father's plantation. 

And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the 
well— 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the 

well! 

Samuel 'Woodwoeth. 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 



607 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S 
PICTURE 

OUT OF KOKFOLIC, THE GIFT OF MY COUSIJST, 
ANN' BODHAM. 

Oh that those lips had language ! Life has 

passed 
With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I 

see, 
The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; 
Voice only fails — else how distinct they say 
" Grieve not, my child — chase all thy fears 



away 



I" 



The meek intelli-gence of those dear eyes 
(Blest be the art that can immortalize, 
The art that bafSes time's tyrannic claim 
To quench it!) here shines on me still the 
same. 
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear ! 

welcome guest, though unexpected here ! 
"Who bidst me honor with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 

1 will obey — ^not willingly alone. 

But gladly, as the precept were her own ; 
And, while that face renews my filial grief. 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief — 
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 
A momentary dream that thou art she. 
My mother ! when I learned that thou wast 

dead. 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son — 
"Wretch. even then, life's journey just begun? 
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss ; 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
Ah, that matei'nal smile ! it answers — Y'es. 
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day ; 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away ; 
And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 
But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou art 

gone 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown ; 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 
Tlie parting word shall pass my lips no more. 
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my con- 

, cern. 
Oft gave me promise of thj^ quick return ; 



What ardently I wished I long believed. 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived — 
By expectation every day beguiled, 
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, 
I learned at last submission to my lot ; 
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er for- 
got. 
Where once we dwelt our name is heard 
no more — 
Children not thine have trod my nursery 

floor ; 
And where the gardener Robin, day by day. 
Drew me to school along the public way — 
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped 
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap — 
'T is now become a history little known. 
That once we called the pastoral house our 

own. 
Short-lived possession ! but the record fair, 
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, 
Still outlives many a storm that has effaced 
A thousand other themes, less deeply traced; 
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, 
That thou might'st know me safe and warm- 
ly laid ; 
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home — 
The biscuit, or confectionary plum ; 
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed 
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and 

glowed : 
All this, and, more endearing still than all, 
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall- 
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks 
ThAt humor interposed too often makes ; 
AU this, still legible in memory's page. 
And still to be so ta my latest age. 
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
Such honors to thee as my numbers may — 
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere — 
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed 
here. 
Could time, his flight reversed, restore the 
hours 
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued 

flowers — 
The violet, the pink, the jessamine — 
I pricked them into paper with a pin, 
(And thou wast happier than myself the 
while — 



60S 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head aiid 

smile) — 
Could those few pleasant days again appear, 
Might one wish hring them, would I wish 

them here ? 
1 would not trust my heart — the dear delight 
Seeos so to be desired, perhaps I might. 
But no — what here we call our life is such, 
So little to he loved, and thou so much, 
That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 

Thou — as a gallant hark, from Albion's 
coast, 
(The storms all weathered and the ocean 

crossed,) 
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle. 
Where spices breathe and brighter seasons 

smile, 
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 
"While airs impregnated with incense play 
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay— 
So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached 

the shore 
"Where tempests never beat nor billows 

roar ; " 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
Of life long since has anchored by thy side. 
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 
Always from port withheld, always dis- 
tressed — 
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest- 
tossed. 
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and com- 
pass lost ; 
And day by day some current's thwarting 

force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous 

course. 
Yet oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he ! 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the 

earth ; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents passed into the skies. 
And now, farewell ! — Time, unrevoked, has 

ruu 
His wonted course; yet what I wished is 
done. 



By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er 

again— 
To have renewed the joys that once were 

mine. 
Without the sin of violating thine ; 
And, while the wings of fancy still are free, 
And I can view this mimic show of thee. 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me 

left. 

WlLLTAJI COWPER. 



THE TRAVELLEE; 

OE, A PEOSPECT OF SOCIETY. 

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow. 
Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po, 
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor 
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door. 
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 
A weary waste expanding to the skies : 
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 
My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee ; 
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, 
And drags at each remove a lengthening 
chain. 

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, 
And round his dwelling guardian saints at- 
tend ; 
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests re- 
tire 
To pause from toil, and time their evening 

fire! 
Blest that abode, where want and pain re- 
pair, 
And every stranger finds a ready chair ! 
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty 

crowned, 
Where all the ruddy family around 
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; 
Or press the bashful stranger to his food. 
And learn the luxury of doing good ! 

But me, not destined such delights to 
share. 
My prime of life in wandering spent, and 
care ; 



THE TRAVELLER. 



609 



Impelled, with steps unceasing, to pursue 
Some fleeting good that mocks me with the 

view. 
That like the circle bounding earth and skies, 
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ; 
My futui-e leads to traverse realms alone. 
And find no spot of all the world my own. 
E'en now, v/herc Alpine solitudes ascend, 
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend; 
And, placed on high above the storm's career, 
Look downward where a hundred realms 

appear : 
Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide. 
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler 

pride. 

When thus creation's charms around com- 
bine, 

Amidst the store should thankless pride re- 
pine? 

Say, should the philosophic mind disdain 

That good which makes each humbler bosom 
vain? 

Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, 

These little things are great to little man ; 

And wiser he whose sympathetic mind 

Exults in all the good of all mankind. 

Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor 
crowned ; 

Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion 
round ; 

Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale ; 

Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale ; 

For me your tributary stores combine. 

Creation's heir, the world — the world is mine ! 

As some lone miser visiting his store. 
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er, 
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill. 
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still. 
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise. 
Pleased with each good that heaven to man 

supphes ; 
T^et oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall. 
To see the sum of human bliss so small : 
And oft I wish, amidst the scene to find 
Some spot to real iiappiness consigned, 
Where my worn soul, each wandering hope 

at rest. 
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. 
81 



But where to find that happiest spot below 
Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? 
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone 
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas. 
And his long nights of revelry and ease ; 
The naked negro, planting at the line, 
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, 
And thanks his gods for all the goods they 

gave. 
Such IS the patriot's boast where'er we roam, 
His first, best country, ever is at home. 
And yet perhaps, if coimtries we compare. 
And estimate the blessings which they share, 
Though pati'iots flatter, stiU shall wisdom 

find 
An equal portion dealt to all mankind ; 
As ditferent good, by art or nature given. 
To difi:erent nations, makes their blessings 

even. 

Nature, a mother kind alike to all. 
Still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call ; 
With food as well the peasant is supplied 
On Idra's cliflEs as Arno's shelvj' side ; 
And though the rocky-crested summits 

frown, 
These rocks by custom tvu'n to beds of down. 
From art more various are the blessings 

sent, — 
Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content. 
Yet these each other's power so strong con- 
test. 
That either seems destructive of the rest. 
Where wealth and freedom reign, content- 
ment fails. 
And honor sinks where commerce long pre- 
vails. 
Hence every state, to our loved blessing prone, 
Conforms and models life to that alone. 
Each to the favorite happiness attends. 
And spurns the plan that aims at other ends, 
Till, carried to excess iu each domain. 
This favorite good begets peculiar pain. 

But let us try these truths with closer eyes, 
And trace them through the prospect as it lies; 
Here, for a while, ray proper cares resigned, 
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; 



610 



P0E3IS OF SENTIMENT AND EEFLECTION. 



Like yon neglected shrub at random cast, 
That shades the steep, and sighs at every 
hlast. 

Far to the right, where Apen nine ascends. 
Bright as the summer, Italy extends; 
Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side. 
Woods over woods, in gay theatric pride, 
While oft some temple's mouldering tops 

between 
With venerable grandeur mark the scene. 

Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, 
The sons of Italy were surely blest: 
Whatever fruits in different climes arc found, 
That proudly rise, or luimbly court the 

ground ; 
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 
Whose bright succession decks the varied 

year; 
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky 
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die ; 
These here disporting own the kindred soil, 
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 
While sea-born gales tlieir gelid wings ex- 
pand, 
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. 

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows. 
And sensual bliss is all this nation ki;ows. 
In florid beauty groves" and lields appear, 
Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. 
Contrasted faults through all his manners 

reign : 
Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, 

vain; 
Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet un- 
true ! 
And e'en in penance planning sins anew. 
All evils here contaminate the mind, 
That opulence departed leaves behind ; 
For wealth was theirs ; not far removed the 

date 
When commerce proudly flourished through 

the state. 
At her command the palace learned to rise. 
Again the long-fallen colunm sought tlie skies. 
The canvas glowed, beyond e'en nature warm. 
The pregnant quarry teamed with human 
form ; 



Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, 
Commerce on other shores displayed her sail; 
While naught remained, of all that richea 

gave. 
But towns unmanned, and lords without a 

slave ; 
And late the nation found, with fniitless 

skill, 
Its former strength was but plethoric ill. 

Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied 
By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride ; 
From these the feeble heart and long-fallen 

mind 
An easy compensation seem to find. 
Here may be seen, in bloodless pom.p ar- 
rayed. 
The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade ; 
Processions formed for piety and love, 
A mistress or a saint in every grove. 
By sports like these are all their cares be- 
guiled ; 
The sports of children satisfy the child : 
Each nobler aim, repressed by long control. 
Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ; 
While low delights succeeding fast behind, 
In happier meanness occupy the mind. 
As in those domes where Ctesars once bore 

sway. 
Defaced by time, and tottering in decay, 
There in the ruin, heedless of the dead. 
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; 
And, wondering man could want the larger 

pile. 
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. 

My soul, turn from them ! turn me to sur- 
vey 
Where rougher climes a nobler race display. 
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion 

tread, 
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread : 
No product here the barren hills afford 
But man and steel, the soldier and his sword; 
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array. 
But winter lingering chills the lap of May ; 
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast. 
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms in- 
vest. 



THE TRAVELLER. 



611 



Yet still, even here, content can spread a 

charm, 
Redress the ciirae, and all its rage disarm. 
Though poor the peasant's hut, his feast 

though small, 
He sees his little lot the lot of all; 
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, 
To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; 
No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal 
To mnke him loathe bis vegetable meal ; 
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, 
Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. 
Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose. 
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes; 
With piitient angle trolls the finny deep. 
Or drives his ventm-ous ploughshare to the 

steep ; 
Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark 

the way, 
And drags the struggliug savage into day. 
At night returning, every labor sped, 
He sits him down the monarch of a shed ; 
Smiles by a cheerful fire, and round surveys 
His children's looks that brighten to the 

blaze, 
While his loved partner, boastful of her 

hoard, 
Displays her cleanly platter on the board ; 
And haply too some pilgrim, thither led. 
With many a tale repays the nightly bed. 

Thus every good his native wilds impart. 
Imprints the patriot lesson on his heart ; 
And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise, 
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms. 
And dear that hill that lifts him to the 

storms ; 
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, 
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 

Such are the charms to barren states 
assigned : 
Their wants but few, their wishes all con- 
fined; 
Yet let them only share the praises due,— 
If few their wants, their pleasures are but 
few : 



For every want that stimulates the breast 
Becomes a soui-ce of pleasure when redressed. 
Hence from such lands each pleasing science 

flies. 
That first excites desire and then supplies ; 
Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures 

cloy, 
To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; 
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to 

flame. 
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the 

frame. 
Their level life is out a smouldering fire, 
Nor quenched by want, nor fanned by strong 

desire ; 
Unfit for raptures, or if raptures cheer 
On some high festival of once a year, 
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire. 
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. 

But not their joys alone thus coarsely 

flow, — 
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low ; 
For, as refinement stops, from she to son 
Unaltered, unimproved the manners run ; 
And love's and friendship's finely pointed 

dart 
Fall blunted from each indurated heart. 
Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's 

breast 
May sit like falcons cowering on the nest; 
But all the gentler morals, — such as play 
Through life's more cultured walks, and 

charm the way, — 
These, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly, 
To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 

To .kinder skies, where gentler manners 
reign, 
I turn, and France displays her bright do- 
main. 
Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can 

please. 
How often have I led thy sportive choir 
With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring 

Loire ! 
When shading elms along the margin grew, 
And freshened from the wave, the zephyr 
flew; 



61;: 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



And baply, tboiigh my liarsh touch flattering 
still, 

But mocked all time and marred the dancer's 
skill ; 

Yet would the village praise my wondrous 
power, 

And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. 

Ahke all ages: dames of ancient days 

Have led their children through the mirthl'ul 
maze; 

And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore, 

Has frisked beneath the burden of three- 
score. 



So blest a life these thoughtless realms 
display, 
Thus idly busy rolls their world away. 
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind en- 
dear, 
For honor forms the social temper here : 
Honor, that praise which real merit gains, 
Or e'en imaginary worth obtains. 
Here passes current ; paid from hand to hand, 
It shifts in splendid traffic round the land ; 
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays, 
And all are taught an avarice of praise : 
They jjlease, are pleased ; they give to get 

esteem ; 
Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they 
seem. 

But while this softer art th.eir bliss sup- 
phes. 
It gives their follies also room to rise ; 
For praise too dearly loved or warmly sought 
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; 
And the weak soul, within itself unblest, 
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. 
Hence ostentation here, with tawdy art. 
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools im- 
part ; 
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 
And trims her robes of irieze with copper 

lace; 
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, 
To boast one splendid banquet once a year; 
The mind still turns where shifting fashion 

draws, 
Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 



To men of other minds n)y fancy flies, 
Embosomed in the deep where Holland lies. 
Methinks her patient sons before me stand, 
Where the broad ocean leans against the land, 
And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, 
Lift the tall rampirc's artificial pride. 
Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, 
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow, 
Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar. 
Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore ; 
"While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, 
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ; 
The slow canal, the yellow-blossomed vale, 
The willow-tufted bank, the ghding sail, 
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, 
A new creation rescued from his reign. 

Thus while around the wave-subjected soil 
Imj)els the native to repeated toil, 
Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 
And industry begets a love of gain. 
Hence all the good from opulence that springs, 
With all those ills superfluous treasure brings. 
Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth 

imparts 
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; 
But view them closer, craft and fraud appear ; 
E'en liberty itself is bartered here ; 
At gold's superior charms all freedom flies. 
The needy sell it, and the rich man buys. 
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, 
Here wretches seek dishonorable graves. 
And, calmly bent, to servitude conform, 
Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. 

Heavens ! how unlike their Belgic sires oi 

old! 
Eough, poor, content, ungovernably bold, 
War in each breast and freedom on each 

brow ; 
How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! 

Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her 

wing, 
And flies whei*e Britain courts the western 

spring; 
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian 

pride, 
And brighter streams than famed Hydaspcs 

slide. 



THE TRAVELLER. 



615 



Tlicre oil ai'oimd the gentlest breezes stray, 
There gentler music melts on every spray ; 
Creation's mildest charms are there com- 
bined, 
Extremes are only in the master's mind. 

Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, 
AVith daring aims irregularly great, 
Pride iu their port, defiance iu their eye, 
I see the lords of human kind pass by: 
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, 
By forms unfashioned, fresh from nature's 

hand, 
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul. 
True to imagined right above control, — 
While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to 

scan, 
And learns to venerate himself as man. 

Thine, freedom, thiue the blessmgs pictured 
here. 
Thine are those charms that dazzle and en- 
dear ! 
Too blest indeed were such "without alloy ; 
But, fostered e'en by freedom, ills annoy ; 
That independence Britons prize too high 
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social 

tie; 
The self-dependent lordlings stand alone, 
All claims that bind and sweeten life un- 
known : 
Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held, 
Minds combat minds, repelling and repelled ; 
Ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar, 
Repressed ambition struggles round her shore, 
Till, overwrought, the general system feels 
Its motion stoji, or frenzy fire the wheels. 

Nor this the worst : as nature's ties decay. 
As duty, love, and honor fail to sway. 
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law. 
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 
Hence all obedience bows to these alone, 
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; 
Till time may come when, stripped of all her 

charms, 
The land of scholars and the nurse of arms, 
"Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, 
Where kings have toiled and poets wrote for 

fame. 



One sink of level avarice shall lie, 

And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonored die. 

But think not, thus when freedom's ills I 
state, 
I mean to flatter kings or court the great ; 
Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire. 
Far from my bosom drive the low desire ! 
And thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feel 
The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry steel ; 
Thou transitory flower, alike undone 
By proud contempt or favor's fostering sun, — 
Still may thy blooms the changeful clime en- 
dure ! 
I only would repress them to secure. 
For just experience tells, in every soil. 
That those that think must govern those that 

toil; 
And all that freedom's highest aims can reach 
Is but to lay proportioned loads on each. 
Hence, should one order disproportioneel 

grow, 
Its double weight must ruin all below. 

Oh then how blind to all that truth re- 
quires. 
Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! 
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms. 
Except when fast approaching danger warms ; 
But when contending chiefs blockade the 

throne. 
Contracting regal power to stretch their own ; 
When I behold a factious band agree 
To call it freedom when themselves are free, 
Each wanton judge new penal statutes 

draw, 
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the 

law, 
The wealth of climes where savage nations 

roam 
Pillaged from slaves to purchase slaves at 

home, — 
Fear, pity, justice, indignation, start, 
Tear oti" reserve and bare my swelling heart-. 
Till, half a patriot, half a coward grown, 
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. 

Yes, brother, curse Avith me that baleful 
hour, 
When first ambition struck at regal power; 



014 



POEMS or SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION, 



I And thus, polluting honor in its source, 
Gave wealth to sway the mind with double 

force. 
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled 

shore, 
Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore ? 
Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, 
Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste ? 
Seen opulence, her grandenr to maintain, 
Lead stern depopulation in her train, 
And over fields Avhere scattered hamlets 

rose 
In barren, solitary pomp repose ? 
Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call, 
The smiling, oft-frequented village fall ? 
Beheld the duteous son, the sire decayed, 
The modest matron, and the blushing maid. 
Forced from their homes, a melancholy 

train. 
To traverse climes beyond the western main. 
Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps 

around, 
And Niagara stuns with thundering sound ? 



E'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim 
strays 
Through tangled forests and through danger- 
ous ways, 
"Where beasts with man divided empire claim. 
And the brown Indian marks with murder- 
ous aim ; 
There, wlnlo above tlie giddy tempest flies, 
And all around distressful yells arise. 
The pensive exile, bending with his Avoe, 
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go. 
Casts a long look where England's glories 

shine. 
And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. 

Vain, very A^ain, iiy weary search to find 
That bliss which only centres in the mind ; 
Wl':y have I straytd from pleasure and re- 
pose. 
To seek a good e.TiCh government bestows ? 
In every government, though terrors reign, 
Thc>ugh tyrant kingt^ or tyrant laws restrain, 
llcw small, of all that human hearts endure, 
That part Avhich lawi5 or kings can cause or 
cure ? 



Still to ourselves in every place consigned, 

Our own felicity we make or find ; 

With secret course which no loud storms 

annoy 
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 
The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, 
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, 
To men remote from power but rarely known, 
Leave reason, faith, and conscience all our 

own. 

Olivek Goldsmith. 



THE DESERTED TILLAGE. 

Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain, 
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring 

swain, 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid. 
And parting summer's lingering blooms de- 
layed ! 
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and case- 
Seats of my youth, when every sport could 

please ! 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green. 
Where humble happiness endeared eacli 

scene ! 
How often have I paused on every charm — 
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill. 
The decent church that topt the neighbo]-ing 

hill. 
The hawthorn bush, with scats beneath the 

shade — 
For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 
How often have I blest the coming day, 
When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play, 
And all the village train, from labor free, 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading 

tree ; 
While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
The young contending as the old surveyed ; 
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went 

round ; 
And still as each repeated pleasures tired, 
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired : 
The dancing pair, that simply sought renown 
By holding out, to tire each other down ; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



615 



The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 

While secret laugliter tittered round the 
place ; 

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 

The matron's glance that would those looks 
reprove : 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports 
like these, 

With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to 
please ; 

These round thy bowers their cheerful influ- 
ence shed ; 

These were thy charms — but all these charms 
are fled. 



Sweet-smiling village, loveliest of the lawn ! 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with- 
drawn ; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green ; 
One only master grasps the whole domain, 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; 
1^0 more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
Bui, choked with sedges, works its weedy 

way ; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest. 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies. 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries ; 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
And the long grass o'ertops the moitldering 

wall; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's 

hand, 
Far, far away thy children leave the laud. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ; 
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fede — 
A. breath can make them, as a breath has 

made ; 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pi'ide. 
When once destroyed, can never be sup- 
plied. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs be- 
gan, 
When every rood of ground maintained its 
man: 



For him light labor spread her Avholesome 

store- 
Just gave Avhat life required, but gave no 

more ; 
His best companions, innocence and health ; 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are altered : trade's unfeeling 
train 
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ; 
Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets 

rose. 
Unwieldy Avealth and. cumbrous pomp re- 
pose ; ( 
And every want to luxury allied, 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
Those calm desires that asked but little room, 
Those healthful sports that graced the peace- 
ful scene. 
Lived in each look, and brightened all the 

green — 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, 
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's pow- 
er. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn 

grew, 
Eemembrance wakes with all her busy train, 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to 
pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of 

care. 
In all my griefs — and God has given my 

share — 
I still had hopes mj- latest hours to crown. 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down • 
To husband out life's taper at the close, 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose ; 
I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned 

skill. 
Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; 



616 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



\ 



And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pur- 
sue, 

Pants to the phxce from whence at first she 
flew, 

I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 

Here to return — and die at home at last. 

O blest retirement ! friend to life's decline ! 
Retreats from care, that never must he mine ! 
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like 

these, 
A youth of labor with an age of ease ; 
Who quits a world where strong temptations 

try, 

And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
For him no Avretches, born to work and 

weep. 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous 

deep; 
No surly porter stands in guilty state. 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; 
But on he moves to meet his latter end. 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 
While resignation gently slopes the way ; 
And, all his prospects brightening to the last. 
His heaven commences ere the world be past. 

Sweet Avas the sound, when oft at evening's 

close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; 
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow. 
The mingling notes came softened from be- 
low: 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their 

young. 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
The playful children just let loose from school. 
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whis- 

T-".ring wind. 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant 

mind. 
These all in swoet confusion sought the shade, 
And filled each pause the nightingale had 

made. 
But now the sounds of j^opulation fail; 
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale ; 
No busy steps tlie grass-grown footway 

tread — 
But all the bloomy blush of life is fled. 



All but one widowed, solitary thing. 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; 

She, wretched matron, forced in ago, for 

bread, 
To strip the brook with mantling cresses 

spread, 
To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, 
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn 
She only left of all the harmless train, 
The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden 

smiled, 
And still where many a garden-flower growa 

w ild. 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place 

disclose, 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear. 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change. 

his place ; 
Unskilfcl he to fawn, or seek for power 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize- 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their 

pain. 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged 

breast ; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims al- 
lowed ; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
Sate by his fire, and talked the night away — 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow 

done, 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields 

were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned 

to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride. 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



cn 



But in bis duty prompt at every call, 

He watched and ■\ve[)t, lie prayed and felt for 

all; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
lie tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 

And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dis- 
mayed, 

The reverend champion stood. At his con- 
trol 

Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 

Comfort came down the trembling wretch to 
raise, 

And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double 

sway. 
And fools, who came to scofi", remained to 

pray. 
The service past, around the pious man. 
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran; 
E'en children followed, with endearing wile. 
And plucked his gown, to share the good 

man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth esprest ; 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares 

distressed; 
To them his heart, his love, his gi'iefs, were 

given — 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in hea- 
ven. 
As some tall cliff" that lifts its awful form. 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the 

storm. 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds 

are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the 
way. 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
Tliere, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 
The village master tauglit his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view — 
I knew him well, and every truant knew ; 
-^2 



Well had the boding tremblers learned to 
trace 

The day's disasters in his morning face ; 

Full well they laughed, with counterfeited 
glee. 

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 

Full well the busy whisper, circling round, 

Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned ; 

Yet he was kind — or, if severe in aught, 

The love he bore to learning was in fault. 

The village all declared how much he knew ; 

'T was certain he could write, and cipher 
too; 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides pre- 
sage. 

And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 

For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue 
still ; 

While words of learned length and thunder- 
ing sound 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder 
grew. 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame ; the very spot. 

Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. 

ISTear yonder thorn, that lifts its he.ad on 

high, 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing 

eye. 
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts 

inspired, 
Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil re- 
tired, 
Where village statesmen talked with looks 

profound, 
xVnd news much older than their ale went 

round. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
The parlor splendors of that festive place : 
The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded 

floor. 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the 

door, 
The chest contrived a dou])le debt to pay — 
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day. 
The pictures placed for ornament and use. 
The twelve good rules, the royal game of 

ffoose ; 



018 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION, 



Th« hearth, except when winter chilled the 

clay, 
With aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel 

gay ; 

While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show. 
Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 

Vain, transitory splendor ! could not all 
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall ? 
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ; 
Thither no more, the peasant shall i-epair 
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; 
No more the smith his dusky brow shall 

clear. 
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to 

hear ; 
The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest. 
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain. 
These simple blessings of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm than all the gloss of art 
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 
TJie soul adopts, and owns their first-born 

sway; 
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
Unenvied, unmolested, uncontined; 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade. 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth ar- 
rayed — 
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain. 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; 
And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. 
The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy. 

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who sur- 
vey 

The rich man's joys increase, the poor's de- 
cay ! 

'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand 

Between a splendid and a happy laud. 

Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted 
ore, 

And shouting folly hails them from her 
shore ; 



Hoards, e'en beyond the miser's v>'ish, abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains : tliis wealth is but a 

name, 
That leaves our useful products still the same. 
Not so the loss: the man of wealth and 

pride 
Takes up a space that many poor supplied — 
Space for his lake, his park's extended 

bounds — 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
Has robbed the neighboring fields of half 

their growth ; 
His seat, where solitary sports are seen. 
Indignant spm-ns the cottage from the green ; 
Around the world each needful product fliea, 
For all the luxuries the world supplies ; 
While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all 
In barren splendor, feebly waits the full. 

As some fair female, unadorned and pmin, 
Secure to jjlease while youth confirms her 

reign, 
Slights every borrov.'ed charm that dress sup- 
plies. 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 
But when those charms are past^for charms 

are frail — 
When time advances, and when lovers fail. 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
In all the glaring impotence of dress ; 
Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed. 
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed ; 
But, verging to decline, its splendors risa. 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 
While, scourged by famine from the smiling 

land. 
The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; 
And while he sinks, without one arm to save. 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

Where then, ah ! where, shall j^overly re- 
side. 
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 
If, to some common's fenceless limits strayed, 
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade. 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth di- 
vide, 
And even the bare-worn common is denied. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



619 



If to the city sped, what waits him there ? 
To sec profusion that he must not sliare; 
To see ten thousand haneful arts combined 
To pamper hisur}', and thin mankind ; 
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know 
Extorted from his fellow-creatures' woe. 
Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, 
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps 

display, 
There the black gibbet glooms beside the 

way. 
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight 

reign, 
Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous 

train ; 
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing 

square — 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! 
Sure these denote one universal joy! 
Are these thy serious thoughts ? Ah ! turn 

thine eyes 
Where the poor, houseless, shivering female 

lies: 
She once, perhaps, in village plenty bles^, 
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest ; 
Iler modest looks the cottage might adorn, 
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the 

thorn ; 
Now lost to all — her friends, her virtue fled — 
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head ; 
And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from 

the shower, 
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour 
When, idly first, ambitious of the town. 
She left her wheel, and robes of country 

brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn — thine the love- 
liest train — 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread. 

Ah, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene. 
Where half the convex world intrudes be- 
tween. 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they 

go. 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 



Far different there, from all that charmed be- 
fore. 

The various terrors of that horrid shore : 

Those blazing suns that dart a downward vaj, 

And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 

Those matted woods where birds forget to 
sing, 

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 

Those pois'nous fields, with rank luxuriance 
crowned, 

Where the dark scorpion gathers death 
around ; 

Where at each step the stranger fears to wako 

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 

Where crouching tigers wait their hapless 

And savage men more murderous still than 

they ; 
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies. 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the 

skies. 
Far different these from every former scene — 
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 
The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 

Good heaven! what sorrows gloomed that 

parting day 
That called them from their native walks 

away ; 
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past. 
Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked 

their last. 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain, 
For seats like these beyond the western main; 
And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
Pteturned and wept, and still returned to 

weep ! 
The good old sire the first prepared to go 
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' 

woe; 
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave. 
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears. 
The fond companion of his helpless years, 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms. 
And left a lover's for her father's arms. 
With louder plaints the mother spoke her 

woes. 
And blessed the cot Avhere every pleasure 

rose ; 



620 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



And ki&sed her tliouglitless babes with mauy 

a tear, 
And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly 

dear ; 
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

O luxury ! thou curst by heaven's decree, 
llow ill exchanged are thingjs like these for 

thee ! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joj', 
Ditfuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown. 
Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 
At every draught more large and large they 

grow, 
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 
Till sapped their strength, and every part un- 
sound, 
Down, down they sink, and sjaread a ruin 
round. 

Even now the devastation is begun. 
And half the business of destruction done ; 
Even now, methinks, as pondering here T 

stand, 
I see the rural virtues leave the land. 
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads 

the sail 
That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale — 
Downward they move, a melancholy band, 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the 

strand. 
Contented toil, and hospitable care, 
And kind connubial tenderness are there ; 
And piety with wishes placed above, 
And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 
And thou, sweet poetry, thou loveliest maid, 
i5till first to fly where sensual joys invade — 
Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, 
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame! 
Dear, charming nympli, neglected and decried, 
My shame in croAvds, my solitaiy pride! 
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe — 
That found'st me poor at first, and kecp'st 

me so! 
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel ! 
Thou nurse of evei'y virtue — fare thee well I 
Farewell ! — and oh ! where'er thy voice be 

tried. 
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side— 



Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, 
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow — 
Still let thy voice, jjrevailing over time. 
Redress the rigors of th' inclement clime ; 
Aid slighted trutli with thy persuasive strain; 
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 
Teach him that states, of native strength pos- 

sest, 
Though very poor, may still be very blest ; 
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift do- 
cay, 
As ocean sweeps the labored mole away ; 
AVhile self-dependent power can time defy. 
As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 



THE BELLS OF SHANDON". . 

Sahhata x>ango ; 
Funera pldngo ; 
Solemiiia clang.o. 

Inscription ox an old bkll. 

With deep affection 
And recollection 
I often think of 

Those Shandon bells, 
Whose sounds so wild would, 
In the days of childhood, 
Fling round my cradle 

Their magic spells. 

On this I ponder 
AYhere'er I wander, 
And thus grow fonder, 

Sweet Cork, of thee — 
With thy bells o^ Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters. « 

Of the river Lee. 

I 've heard bells chiming 
Full many a clime in, 
Tolling sublime in 

Cathedral slirine, 
While at a glibe rate 
. Brass tongues would vibrate ; 
But all their music 

Spoke naught like thine. 



THE BELLS. 



621 



For memory, dwelling 
On each proud swelling 
Of thy belfry, knelling 

Its bold notes free, 
Made the bells of Sbandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

I 've heard bells tolling 
Old Adrian's Mole in, 
Their thunder rolling 

From the Vatican — 
And cymbals glorious 
Swinging uproarious 
In the gorgeous turrets 

Of Notre Dame ; 

But thy sounds were sweeter 
Than the dome of Peter 
Flings o'er the Tiber, 

Pealing solemnly. 
Oh I the bells of Shandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

There 's a bell in Moscow ; 
While on tower and kiosk oh 
In Saint Sophia 

The Turkman gets. 
And loud in air 
Calls men to prayer, 
From the tapei'ing summit 

Of tall minarets. 

\ 

Such empty phantom 

I freely grant them ; 
But there 's an anthem 

More dear to me — ,j 

'T is the bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

Father Pkout. (Francis Mabony.) 



THE BELLS. 

I. 
Hear the sledges with the bells — 

Silver bells— [tells! 

What a world of merriment their melody fore- 
IIow they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that ovei'sprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight — 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 

Bells, bells, bells— • I 

From the jingling and the tinkling of the 
bells. 

IT. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells — 
Golden bells ! 
What a world of happiness their harmony 
foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of niglit 
IIoAV they ring out their delight! 
From the molten-golden notes, 

And all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she 
gloats 

On the moon ! 
Oh, from out the sounding cells. 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells 1 
IIow it swells ! 
How it dwells 
On the Future ! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the riij^ing 

Of the bells, beljs, bells, 
Of the bells, bells,' bells, bells, 
^•*-' ^ Bells, bells, bells— ^y.,' '"^ 
To the V rhyming and the chiming of the 

^ ■■■■ >>■•■ 

Hear the loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulencv 
tells ! -^^ 

In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright! 



622 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek. 
Out of tune, 
[n the chiraorous appealing to the mercy of 

the fire. 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and 
frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
AVith a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor, 
Now — now to sit or never. 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells, 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of despair! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
Yet the ear it fully knows. 
By the twanging. 
And the clanging, 
IIow the danger ebbs and flows ; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells. 
In the jangling, 
And the wrangling, 
How the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or tL»3 swelling in the anger 
of the bells — 

Of the bells— 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells — 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 



Hear the tolling of '•.he bells — 
Iron bells ! 
What a world of solemn thought their mon- 
ody compels ! 
In the silence of the night, 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone. 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone — 



They are neither man nor woman— 
They are neither brute nor human- 

They are ghouls : 
And their king it is wlio tolls; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 
Eolls, 
A ptean from the bells ! 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the ptean of the bells ! 
And he dances and he yells ; 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Kunic rhyme, 
To the psean of the bells — 
Of the bells : 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Eunic rhyme, 

To the throbbing of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time. 

As he knells, knells, knells. 
In a happy Eunic rhyme, 

To the rolling of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 
To the tolling of the bells. 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- 
Bells, bells, bells— 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 
Edcas Allan Poe. 



THOSE EVENING BELLS. 

Those evening bells ! those evening bells ! 
How many a tale their music tells, 
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time 
When lastl heard their soothing chime! 

Those joyous hours are passed away ; 
And many a heart that then was gay, 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

And so 't will be when I am gone— 
That tuneful peal will still ring on ; 
While other bards shall walk these dells. 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells. 
Thomas Mcore. 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 023 




CHORUS. 


ALEXANDER'S EEAST; 


With ravished ears 


OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. — AN ODE IN HOXOE 

OF ST. Cecilia's day. 


The monarch hears.. 
Assumes the god^ 


'T WAS at the royal feast for Persia won 


Affects to nod^ 
And seems to shahe the spheres. 


By Philip's warlike son : 




Aloft, in awful state, 


The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musi- 


The godlike hero sate 


cian sung — 


On his imperial throne ; 


Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young ; 


Ilis valiant peers were placed around, 


The jolly god in triumph comes : 


Their brows with roses and with myrtles 


Sound the trumpets ; beat the drums ! 


bound ; 


Flushed with a purple grace, 


(So should desert in arms be crowned) ; 


He shows his honest face ; 


The lovely Thais by his side 


Now give the hautboys breath — ^he comes. 


Sate, like a blooming eastern bride, 


he comes ! 


In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 


Bacchus, ever fair and young, 


Happy, happy, happy pair ! 


Drinking joys did first ordain ; 


None but the brave, 


Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; 


None but the brave, . 


Drinking js the soldiers' pleasure: 


None but the brave deserves the fair. 


Eich the treasure. 




Sweet the pleasure ; 


CIIOETJS. 


Sweet is pleasure after pain. 


Sappy ^ happy ^ Tiappy pair ! 




None lut the trave, 


CHORUS, 


None lut the Irave^ 


Bacchus' hlessings are a treasure ; 


None hut the drave deserves the fair. 


Drinking is the soldier^s pleasure : 


Timotheus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful quire, 
With flying fingers touched the lyre ; 


Rich the treasure, 
Sweet the pleasure ; 
Sweet is pleasure after j^ain. 


The trembling notes ascend the sky. 


Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 


And heavenly joys inspire. 


Fou'ght all his battles o'er again ; 


The song began from Jove, 


And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice 


Who left his blissful seats above. 


he slew the slain. 


(Such is the power of mighty Love). 


The master saw the madness rise — 


A dragon's fiery form belied the god ; 


His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 


Sublime on radiant spires he rode. 


And, while he heaven and earth defied. 


When he to fixir Olympia pressed, 


Changed his hand, and checked his pride. 


And while he sought her snowy breast ; 


He chose a mournful muse. 


Then, round her slender waist he curled, 


Soft pity to infuse, 


And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign 


He sung Darius great and good. 


of the world. 


By too severe a fate 


The listening crowd admire the lofty sound — 


Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen — 


A present deity ! they shout around ; 


Fallen from his high estate. 


A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound. 


And weltering in his blood ; 


With ravished ears 


Deserted, at his utmost need, 


The monarch hears. 


By those his former bounty fed ; 


Assumes the god, 


On the bare earth exposed he lies, 


Affects to nod, 


With not a friend to close his eyes. 


And seems to shake the spheres. 


With downcast looks the joyless victor sato 



02-i 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Eevolving in his altered soul 

The various turns of chauce helow ; 

And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; 
And tears began to flow. 

CHORUS. 

Revolving in Ms alteredsoul 

The various turns of cliance heloio ; 

Ancl^ noio and then, a sigh he stole; 
And tears legan tofloic. 

The mighty master smiled, to see 
That love was in the next degree ; 
'T was but a kindred sound to move, 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 
Soon he soothed his soul to .pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
Honor but an empty bubble — 

Never ending, still beginning — 
Fighting still, and still destroying; 

If the world be worth thy winning. 
Think, oh think it worth enjoying! 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee — 
Take the goods the gods provide thee. 
The many rend the sky with loud applause ; 
So love was crowned, but music won the 
cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal bis pain. 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care. 
And sighed and locked, sighed and looked, 
Siglied and looked, and sighed again. 
At length, with love and wine at once op- 
pressed. 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 

CHORUS. 

Thefvince unaMe to conceal his fain, 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care, 
And siglied and looked^ sighed and loolccd, 
Sighed and loolced, and sighed again. 
At length, loith love and wine at once oppressed, 
The vanquished victor sunh upon her hreast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again — 

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 

Break his bands of sleep asunder. 

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 



Hark, hark ! the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head ! 
As awaked from the dead. 
And amazed, he stares around. 
Eevenge! revenge! Timotheus cries; 
See the Furies arise ! 
See the snakes that they rear. 
How they hiss in their hair. 
And the sparkles that flash from their 
eyes! 

Behold a ghastly band. 
Each a torch in his hand ! 
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were 
slain, 

And unburied remain, 
Inglorious, on the plain ! 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold how they toss their torches on 
high. 
How they point to the Persian abodes. 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! 
The princes applaud with a furious joy. 
And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to 
destroy ; 

Thais led the way 
To light him to his prey, 
And, like anotner Helen, fired another Troy. 



And the Icing seized a flanibeau icith zeal to 
destroy ; 

Thais led the tcay 

To light him to his prey. 

And, liJce another Helen, fired another Troy. 

Thus, long ago — 
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 

While organs yet were mute — 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute, 
And sounding lyre, 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft 
desire. 
At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds, 
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown 
before. 



TEE PASSIONS. 



625 



Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the skies — 

She drew an angel down. 

GEAND CHORUS. 

At last divine Cecilia came, 
Imeniress of the vocal frame ; 
The siceet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarged the former narroio lounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds, 
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unTcnoicn 
lefore. 
Let old Timotheus yield thefvize, 

Or T)oth divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the sMes — 
She dreio an angel down. 

John Deydej^. 



INFLUENCE OF MUSIC. 

Okpheits, with his lute, made trees, 
And the mountain-tops that freeze, 

Bow themselves when he did sing ; 
To his music plants and flowers 
Ever sprung — as sun and showers 

There had made a lasting Spring. 

Every thing that heard him play, 
Even the billows of the sea, 

Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art, 
Killing care, and grief of heart — 

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die ! 

Shakespeakb. 



MUSIC. 



On, lull me, lull me, charming air ! 

My senses rock Avith wonder sweet ! 
Like snow on wool thy fallings are ; 
Soft, like a spirit's, are thy feet. 
Grief who need fear 
That hath an ear ? 
Down let him lie, 
And slumbering die, 
And change his soul for harmony. 

William Strode. 

83 



THE PASSIONS. 

AX ODE FOK MUSIC. 

"Whek Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung. 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell. 
Thronged around her magic cell — 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting — 
Possest beyond the muse's painting ; 
By turns they felt the giowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till once, 't is said, when all were fired, 
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired. 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sound ; 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art. 
Each (for madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First Fear his hand, its skill to try. 
Amid the chords bewildered laid. 

And back recoiled, he knew not why. 
E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rushed ; his eyes, on fire, 
In lightnings owned his secret stings : 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 
And swept with hurried hand the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair, 

Low, sullen sounds, his grief beguiled — 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 
'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild. 

But thou, Hope, with eyes so fair— 

What was thy delightful measure? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
x\nd bade the lovely scenes at distance 
hail ! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
She called on Echo still, through all the 
song; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at 
every close ; 
And Hope enchanted, smiled, and waved 
her golden hair. 



C2C 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND EEFLECTIOJN, 



And longer had she sung— but, with a 
frown, 
Eevenge impatient rose ; 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thun- 
der down ; 
And, with a withering look, 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
And, ever and anon, he beat 
The doubling drum, with furious heat ; 
And though sometimes, each dreary pause 
between. 
Dejected Pity, at his side, 
Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mein, 
While each strained ball of sight seemed 
bursting from his head. 
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught Avere 
fixed — 
Sad proof of thy distressful state ; 
Of diftering themes the veering song was 
mixed ; 
And now it courted love — now, rav- 
ing, called on Hate. 

AVith eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
Pale Melancholy sate retired ; 
And, from her wild sequestered seat. 
In notes by distance made more sweet. 
Poured through the mellow horn her pen- 
sive soul ; 
And, dashing soft from rocks around, 
Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled 
measure stole ; 
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond 
delay, 
Eound an holy calm diifusing, 
Love of peace, and lonely musing, 
In hollow murmurs died awaj^ 

I3ut oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest 
hue, 
Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemmod with morning dew. 
Blew an inspiring air, that' dale and thicket 
rung — 
Tlie hunter's call, to faun and dryad 
known ! 



The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste- 
eyed queen. 
Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; 

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechei' 
spear. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 

He, with viny crown advancing. 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest ; 

But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the 
best; 

They would have thought, who heard the 
strain, 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids. 
Amidst the festal sounding shades, 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing. 

While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings. 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: 

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone un- 
bound ; 
And he, amidst his frolic play, 
As if he would the charming air repay, 

Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 

Music ! sphere-descended maid, 
Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid ! 
Why, goddess ! why, to us denied, 
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 
As, in that loved Athenian bower, 
You learned an all commanding power, 
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared, 
Can well recall what then it heard ; 
Where is thy native simple heart. 
Devote to virtue, fancy, art ? 
Arise, as in that elder time, 
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! 
Thy wonders, in that godlike age. 
Fill thy recording sister's page ; 
'T is said — and I believe the tale — : 
Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 
Had more of strength, diviner rage, 
Than all which charms this laggard age — 
E'en all at once together found — 
Cecilia's mingled world of sound. 
Oh bid our vain endeavors cease ; 
Eevive the just designs of Greece ! 
Return in all thy simple state — 
Confirm the tales her sous relate ! 

William Collins. 



TO A LADY WITH A GUITAR. 



62'; 



TO A LADY WITH A GUITAR. 

Ariel to Miranda : — Take 

riiis slave of music, for the sake 

Of him who is the slave of thee ; 

And teach it all the harmony- 

In which thou canst, and only thou, 

Make the delighted spirit glow. 

Till joj denies itself again. 

And, too intense, is turned to pain. 

For by permission and command 

Of thine own prince Ferdinand, 

Poor Ariel sends this silent token 

Of more than ever can be spoken ; 

Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who 

From life to life must still pursue 

Your happiness, for thus alone 

Can Ariel ever find his own. 

From Prospero's enchanted cell. 

As the mighty verses tell. 

To tlie throne of Naples he 

Lit you o'er the trackless sea, 

Flitting on, your prow before, 

Like a living meteor. 

When you die, the silent moon 

In her interlunar swoon 

Is not sadder in her cell 

Than deserted Ariel ; 

When you live again on earth. 

Like an unseen star of birth 

Ariel guides you o'er the sea 

Of life from your nativity. 

Many changes have been run 

Since Ferdinand and you begun 

Your course of love, and Ariel still 

Has tracked your steps and served your will. 

Now in liumbler, happier lot, 
This is all remembered not ; 
And now, alas! the poor sprite is 
Imprisoned for some fault of his 
In a body like a grave — 
From yoii he only dares to crave 
For his service and liis sorrow 
A smile to-day, a song to-morrow. 

riie artist who this viol wrought 
To echo all harmonious thought, 



Felled a tree, while on the steep 

The woods were in their winter sleep. 

Rocked in that repose divine 

On the wind-swept Apennine; 

And dreaming, some of autumn past, 

And some of spring approaching fast, 

And some of April buds and showers, 

And some of songs in July bowers. 

And all of love ; and so this tree — 

Oh, that such our death may be! — 

Died in sleep, and felt no pain, 

To live in happier form again ; 

From which, beneath heaven's fairest star, 

The artist wrouglit this loved guitar ; 

And taught it justly to reply 

To all who question skilfully 

In language gentle as thine own ; 

Whispering in enamored tone 

Sweet oracles of woods and deUs, 

And summer winds in sylvan cells. 

For it had learned all harmonies 

Of the plains and of the skies. 

Of the forests and the mountains. 

And the many-voiced fountains ; 

The clearest echoes of the hUis, 

The softest notes of falling rills, 

The melodies of birds and bees, 

The murmuring of summer seaS, 

And pattering rain, and breathing dew, 

And airs of evening ; and it knew 

That seldom-heard mysterious sound 

Which, driven on its diurnal round, 

As it floats through boundless day 

Our world enkindles on its way. 

All this it knows, but will not tell 
To those who cannot question well 
The spirit that inhabits it ; 
It talks according to the wit 
Of its companions ; and no more 
Is heard than has been felt before 
By those who tempt it to betray 
These secrets of an elder day. 
But, sweetly as its answers will 
Flatter hands of perfect skill, 
It keeps its highest holiest tone 
For one beloved friend alone. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



028 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REELECTION. 



TO CONSTANTIA— SINGING. 

Thus to bo lost, and tlius to sink and die, 
Perchance were death indeed ! — Oonstan- 
tia, turn! 
In Ihy dark eyes a power like light doth lie. 
Even though the sounds which were thy 
voice, which burn 
Between thy lips, are laid to sleep ; 
"Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like 
odor it is yet, 
And from thy touch like fire doth leap. 
Even while I write, my burning cheeks are 

wet — 
Alas, tliat the torn heart can bleed, but not 
forget ! 

A breathless awe like the swift change. 
Unseen but felt, in youthful slumbers, 

"Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange. 
Thou breathest noT/ in fast ascending num- 
bers. 

The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven 
By the enchantment of thy strain ; 

And on my shoulders wings are woven. 
To follow its sublime career 

Beyond the mighty moons that wane 

Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere, 
Till the world's shadowy walls are past and 
disappear. 

Her voice is hovering o'er my soul — it lingers, 
O'ershadowing it with soft and luUing 
wings ; 

The blood and life within those snowy fingers 
Teach witchcraft to the instrumental 
strings. 

My brain is wild, my breath comes quick — 
The blood is listening in my frame; 

And thronging shadows, fast and tliick. 
Fall on my overflowing eyes ; 

My heart is quivering like a flame ; 

As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, 
I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies. 

I have no life, Constautia, now, but thee ; 
"Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy 
song 
Flows on, and fills all things with melody. 



Now is thy voice a tempest, swift ana 
strong. 
On which, like one in trance upborne, 

Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, 
Eejoiciug like a cloud of morn. 

Now 't is tlie breath of summer night, 
"Which, when the starry waters sleep, 

Eound western isles, with incense-blossoms 

- bright. 
Lingering, suspends my soul in its volup- 
tuous flight. 

Peecy Btsshe Seelley. 



ON A LADY SINGING. 

Oft as my lady sang for me 

That song of the lost one that sleeps by the 

sea. 
Of the grave on the rock, and the cypress 
tree, 
Strange was the i^leasure that over me 

stole. 
For 't was made of old sadness that lives in 
my soul. 

So still grew my heart at each tendei' 

word 
That the pulse in my bosom scarcely 

stirred, 
And I hardly breathed, but only heard. 
"Where was I? — not in the world of men, 
Until she awoke me with silence again. 

Like the smell of the vine, when its early 

bloom 
Sprinkles the green lane with sunny per- 
fume. 
Such a delicate fragrance filled the room. 
"W^hether it came from the vine without, 
Oi- arose from her presence, I dwell in 
doubt. 

Light shadows played on the pictured 

wall 
From the m.aples that fluttered outside the 

hall, 
And hindered the daylight — yet ah! not 
all; 
Too little for that all the forest would be — 
Such a sunbeam she was, and is, to me ' 



WOMAN'S. VOICE. 



629 



"Wlien ray sense returned, as the song was 

o'er, 

I lain would have said to her, " Ship; it once 

more ; " 

But soon as she smiled my wish I forbore : 

Music enough in her look I found, 

And the hush of her lip seemed sweet as the 

sound. 

Thomas William Paksons. 



A CANADIAJf BOAT SONG. 

El reniiffem cant us hortatur. 

QunlTILIAN. 

Faintly as tolls the evening chime, 
Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. 
Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 
"We '11 sing at St. ^nn's our parting hymn. 
Eow, brothers, row ! the stream runs fast, 
The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past ! 

Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? — 
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl. 
But when the wind blows off the shore 
Oh ! sweetly we '11 rest our weary oar. 
Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, 
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past! 

Utawa's tide ! this trembling moon 
Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 
Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers — 
Oh ! grant us cool heavens and favoring airs ! 
Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, 
The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past ! 

TnOMAS MOOEE. 



EGYPTIAIT SEREJTADE. 

SixG again the song you sung 
When we were together young — 
When there were but you and I 
Underneath the summer sky. 

Sing the song, and o'er and o'er, 
Though I know that nevermore 
WiU it seem the song you sung 
When we were together young. 

George 'William Cuktis. 



WOMxVN'S VOICE. 

"■ Iler voice was ever low, 
Gentle and soft — an excellent thing in woman." 

King Leab. 

Not in the swaying of the summer trees, 
When evening breezes sing their vesper 
hymn — 
Not in the minstrel's mighty symphonies, 

Nor ripples breaking on the river's brirn^ 
Is earth's best music ; these may move awhile 
High thoughts in happy hearts, and carking 
cai'es beguile. 

But even as the swallow's silken wings, 
Skimming the water of the sleeping lake, 

Stir the stOl silver with a hundred rings — 
So doth one sound the sleeping spirit wake 

To brave the danger, and to bear the harm — 

A low and gentle voice — dear woman's chief- 
est charm. 

An excellent thing it is, and ever lent 
To truth and love, and meekness ; they 
who own 
This gift, by the all-gracious Giver-sent, 

Ever by quiet step and smile are known ; 
By kind eyes that have wept, hearts tliat have 

sorrowed — 
By patience never tired, from their own trials 
borrowed. 

An excellent thing it is, when first in glad- 
ness 
A mother looks into her infant's eyes. 
Smiles to its smiles, and saddens to its sad- 
ness 
Pales at its paleness, sorrows at its cries ; 
Its food and sleep, and smiles and little joys — 
All these come ever blent with one low gen- 
tle voice. 

An excellent thing it is when life is leaving. 
Leaving with gloom and gladness, joys and 
cares. 
The strong heart failing, and the high soul 
grieving 
Witli strangest thoughts, and with unwont- 
ed fears ; 



630 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Tlieii, then a. woman's low soft sympathy j 
Comes like an angel's voice to teach us how 
to (lie. 

But a most excellent thing it is in youth, 
When the fond lover hears the lovctl one's 
tone, 
That fears, hut longs, to syllahlo the truth — 
llow their two hearts are one, and she his 
own ; 
It makes sweet human music — oh ! the spells 
That haunt the trembling tale a bright-eyed 
maiden tells ! 

Edwin Aiinoi-d. 



SONG. 



Still to be neat, still to b*c drest, 

As you were going to a feast ; 

Still to be powdered, still perfumed — 

Lady, it is to be presumed, 

Tliough art's liid causes are not found. 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a look, give mc a fiice, 
That makes simplicity a grace ; 
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free — 
Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
Thau all the adulteries of art ; 
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 
Bex Jonson. 



DELIGHT IN DISORDER. 

A SWEET disorder in the dress 

Kindles in clothes a wantonness : 

A lawn about the shoulders throAvn 

Into a fine distraction — 

An erring lace, which here and there 

Entliralls the crimson stomacher — 

A cuff neglectful, and thereby 

Ribbons to flow confusedly — 

A winning wave, deserving note. 

In the tempestuous petticoat — 

-V careless shoe string, in whose tie 

I see a wild civility — 

Do more bewitch me than when art 

Is too precise in every part. 

KOBEUT IIl-Rr.7.0I 



IIEBE. 

I SAW the twinkle of Avhite feet, 

I saw the flash of robes descending ; 

Before her ran an influence fleet. 

That bowed my heart like barley bending. 

As, in bare fields, the searching bees 
Pilot to blooms beyond our finding, 
It led me on — by sweet degrees, 
Joy's simple honey cells unbinding. 

Those graces were that seemed grim fates ; 
With nearer love the sky leaned o'er me ; 
The long sought secret's golden gates 
On musical hinges swung before me. 

I saw the brimmed bowl in her grasp 
Thrilling Avith godhood; like a lover, 
I sprang the proftered life to clasp — 
The beaker fell; the luck was over. 

The earth has drunk the vintage up ; 
That boots it patch the goblet's splinters? 
Can summer fill the icy cup 
Whose treacherous crystal is but winter's? 

O spendthrift haste ! await the gods ; 
Their nectar crowns the lips of patience. 
Haste scatters on unthankful sods 
The immortal gift in vain libations. 

Coy Ilebe flies from those that woo, 
And shuns the hands would seize upon her ; 
Follow thy life, and she will sue 
To pour for thee the cup of honor. 

James Kusseli. Lowell. 



SONNET. 

'T IS much immortal beauty to admire, 
But more immortal beauty to withstand ; 
The perfect soul can overcome desire. 
If beauty with divine delight be scanned. 
For what is beauty, but the bloDining child 
Of fair Olympus, that iu night must end, 
And bo for ever from that bliss exiled, 
If admiration stand too much its friend? 



TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. 



C31 



Tbo wind '/uo/ be eaf.inorcd of a flower, 
Tho oce?ji ni '.be gveca and laughing' sliorc, 
Tho silver l^sfAnwg of a lofty tower- 
But must not with too near a love adore ; 
Or flower, and margin, and cloud-capped tow- 
er, 
Love and delij,dit sluill with delight devour! 

LOKD Tiiui:i,ow. 



TO MISTRESS MARGARET IIDSSEY. 

Mebet Margaret, 

As midsummer flower — 

Gentle as falcon. 

Or hawk of tlic tower ; 

With solace and gladness, 

Much mirth and no madness, 

All good and noi badness ; 

So joyously, 

So maidenly. 

So womanly 

Her demeaning — 

In everything 

Far, far passing 

That I can indite, 

Or suffice to write. 

Of merry Margaret, 

As midsummer flower, 

Gentle as falcon 

Or hawk of the tower ; 

As patient and as still. 

And as full of good will, 

As fair Isiphil, 

Coliander, 

Sweet Pomander, 

Good Cassander ; 

Steadfast of thought, 

Well made, well Avrought ; 

Far may be sought 

Ere you can find 

So courteous, so kind. 

As merry Margaret, 

This midsummer flower, 

Gentle as falcon. 

Or bawk of the tower, 

Joiiff Skei.ton 



WHO IS SYLVIA? 

Who is Sylvia? what is she. 
That all the swains commend her? 

Holy, fair, and wise, is she; 

Tiie heavens such grace did lend her 

Tiiat she might adored be. 

Is she kind, or is she fair? 

For beauty lives with kindness. 
Love does to her eyes repair 

To help him of bis blindness — 
And, being helped, inhabits there. 

Then to Sylvia let us sing 

That Sylvia is excelling ; 
She excels each mortal thing 

Upon the dull earth dwelling ; 
To her let us garlands bring. 

SllAKESI'BAEE. 



SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. 

Shr walks in beauty like the night 
Of cloudless climes ajid starry skies ; 

And all that's best of dark and briglit 
Meets in her aspect and her eyes: 

Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less 

Had half impaired the nameless grace 
Which waves in every raven tress, 
Or softly lightens o'er her face- 
Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
How pure, Iiow dear tiieir dwelling place. 

And on that clieek, and o'er that brow. 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
The smiles that win, the tints that glow. 

But tell of days in goodness spent, 
A mind at peace with all belov.^, 

A heart whose love is innocent. 

LoED Bmow. 



__J 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



IIERMIONE. > 

Inou bast beauty brigbt and fair, 

Manner noble, aspect free, 
Eyes that are nntoucbed by care : 

What then do we ask from thee ? 
Hermione, Uermione ? 

Thou hast reason quick and strong, 
"Wit that envious men admire, 

And a voice, itself a song ! 

What then can v.-e still desire ? 

Hermione^ Ilermioncf 

Something thou dost want, O queen ! 

(xis the gold doth ask alloy), 
Tejys — amid thy laughter seen, 
Pity mingling with thy joy. 

This is all ice ash from thee, 
Uermione, Uermione ! 

Barry Cornwall. 



UPON JULIA'S PvECOVERY. 

Droop, droop no more, or hang the head. 

Ye roses almost withered ! 

New strength and newer purple get, 

Each hero declining violet ! 

O primroses! let this day be 

A resurrection unto ye. 

And to all flowers allied in blood. 

Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood. 

For health on Julia's cheek bath shed 

Claret and cream commingled ; 

And those her lips do now appear 

As beams of coral but more clear. 

Robert Hekeiok. 



SONG. 



Lady, leave thy silken thread 

And flowery tapestry — 
There 's living roses on the bush, 

And blossoms on the tree. 
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand 

Some random bud will meet-, 
Thou canst not tread but thou wilt find 

The daisy at thy feet. 

'T is like the birthday of the world, 
When earth was born in bloom ; 



The light is made of many dyes, 

The air is all perfume ; 
There 's crimson buds, and white and blue — 

The very rainbow showers 
Have turned to blossoms where they fell, 

And sown the earth with flowers. 

There 's faiiy tulips in the east — 

The garden of the sun ; 
The very streams reflect the hues. 

And blossom as they run ; 
While morn opes like a crimson rose, 

Still wet with pearly showers : 

Then, lady, leave the silken thread 

Thou twiuest into flowers ! 

Thomas Hood. 



TO A HIGHLAND GIRL. 

Sweet Iligldand girl ! a very shower 

Of beauty is tliy earthly dower ; 

Thrice seven consenting yeai's have shed 

Their utmost bounty on thy head. 

And these gray rocks ; that household lawn ; 

Those trees — a veil just half withdrawn ; 

This fall of water, that doth make 

A murmur near the silent lake : 

This little bay, a quiet road 

That holds in shelter thy abode — 

In truth, together do ye seem 

Like something fashioned in a dream — 

Such forms as from their covert peep 

When earthly cares are laid asleep. 

But, O fair creature! in the hght 

Of common day so heavenly bright — 

I bless thee, vision as thou ai't, 

I bless thee with a human heart ; 

God shield thee to thy latest years ! 

Thee neither know I, nor thy peers ; 

And yet my eyes are filled with tears. 

With earnest feeling I shall pray 
For thee when I am for away ; 
For never saw I mien or face 
In which more plainly I could trace 
Benignity and homebred sense 
Ripening in perfect innocence. 
Here, scattered, like a random seed. 
Remote from men, thou dost not need 
The embarrassed look of shy distress, 
And maidenly shamefaccdness ; 



THE SOLITARY REAPER. 



ri 



633 



Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 
The freedom of a mountaineer : 
A face with ghidness overspread ; 
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred ; 
And seemliness complete, that sways 
Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; 
With no restraint, but such as springs 
From quick and eager visitings 
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 
Of thy few words of English speech— 
A bondage* sweetly brooked, a strife 
That gives thy gestures grace and life ; 
So have I, not unmoved in mind, 
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind 
Thus beating up against the wind. 

What hand but would a garland cull 
For thee, who art so beautiful ? 
O happy pleasure ! here to dwell 
Beside thee in some lieathy dell- 
Adopt your homely ways and dress, 
A shepherd, thou a shepherdess ! 
But I could frame a wish for thee 
More like a grave reality. 
Thou art to me but as a wave 
Of the wild sea ; and I would have 
Some claim upon thee, if I could, 
Tliough but of common neighborhood. 
What joy to hear thee, and to see ! 
Thy elder brother I would be, 
Thy father— anything to thee ! 

jSTow thanks to heaven, that of its grace 

Hath led me to this lonely place ! 

Joy have I had ; and, going hence, 

I bear away my recompense. 

In spots like these it is we prize 

Our memory, feel that she hath eyes. 

Then why should I be loth to stir ? 

I feel this place was made for her, 

To give new pleasure like the past — 

Continued long as lil'e shall last. 

Nor am I loth, tliough pleased at heart, 
Sweet Highland girl ! from thee to part ; 
For I, mcthinks, till I grow old, 
As fair before me shall behold. 
As I do now, the cabin small, 
Tlie lake, the bay, the waterfall— 
And thee, the spirit of them all ! . 

William Woudswoutu. 
84 



THE SOLITARY EEAPER. 

Behold her, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland lass ! 
Reaping and singing by herself; 
Stop here, or gently pass ! 
Alone she cuts and buids the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain ; 
Oh listen ! for the vale jDrofound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

iSTo nightingale did ever chant 
More welcome notes to weary bands 
Of travellers in some shady haunt. 
Among Arabian sands ; 
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 
In spring time from the cuckoo bird, 
Breakmg the silence of the seas 
Among the farthest Hebrides. 

AYill no one tell me what she sings ?— 

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 

For old, unhappy, far-off things, 

And battles long ago ; 

Or is it some more humble lay. 

Familiar matter of to-day ? 

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain. 

That has been, or may be again ? 

Whatever the theme, the maiden sang 
As if her song could have no ending; 
I sa\v her singing at her work 
And o'er her sickle bending;— 
I listened motionless and still ; 
And, as I mounted up the hill, 
The music in my heart I bore 
Long after it was heard no more. 

"William Wordsworth. 



"PROUD MAISIE 13 IN THE WOOD." 

Proud Maisie is in the wood. 

Walking so early ; 
Sweet robin sits on the bush, 

Singing so rarely. 

" Tell me, thou bonny bird. 
When shall I marry me ? " 

— '' When six braw gentlemen 
Kirk ward .shidl carry ye," 



au 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



" Who makss the bridal bod, 

Birdie, say truly ? " 
— "The gray-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 

" The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 

Shall light thee steady ; 
The owl from the steeple sing 

Welcome, proud lady ! " 

SiK Waltek Scott. 



THE TWO BRIDES. 

I SAW two maids at the kirk, 
And both were fair and sweet — 

One in her wedding robe. 

And one in her winding-sheet. 

The choristers sang the hymn — 
The sacred rites were read ; 

And one for life to life. 

And one to death, was wed. 

They were borne to theii' bridal beds, 

In loveliness and bloom — 
One in a merry castle, 

The other a solemn tomb. 

One on the morrow woke 
In a world of sin and pain ; 

But the other was happier far, 
And never awoke again ! 

RicHAED Henry Stoddard. 



" SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT." 

She was a phantom of delight 

When first she gleamed upon my siglit ; 

A lovely apparition, sent 

To be a moment's ornament : 

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ; 

Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair. 

But all things else about her drawn 

From May-time and the cheerful dawn — 

A dancing shape, an image gay, 

To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 
A spirit, yet a woman too : 



Her household motions light and free, 
And steps of virgin liberty ; 
A countenance in which did meet 
Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 
A creature, not too bright or good 
For human nature's daily food — 
For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and 
smiles. 

And now I see with eye sereife 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A traveller between life and death ; 
The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill : 
A perfect woman, nobly planned. 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel light. 

William Wobdswoeth. 



TO MY SISTER. 

WITH A COPY OF " SUPERN ATUEALISM OF NEW 
ENGLAND." 

Deae sister ! while the wise and sage 
Turn coldly from my playful page. 
And count it strange that ripened age 

Should stoop to boyhood's folly- 
I know that thou wilt judge aright 
Of all that makes the heart more light, 
Or lends one star-gleam to the night 

Of clouded melancholy. 

Away Avith weary cares and themes! 
Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams! 
Leave free once more the land which teems 

With wonders and romances ! 
Where thou, with clear discerning eyes, 
Shalt rightly read the truth which lies 
Beneath the quaintly-masking guise 

Of wild and wizard fancies. 

Lo ! once again our feet we set 
• On still green wood paths, twilight wet. 
By lonely brooks, whose waters fret 



THE OLD MAIC. 



635 



The roots of spectral beeclies ; 
Again the hearth-fire glimmers o'er 
Home's white-washed wall and painted 

floor, 
xYiid young eyes widening to the lore 

Of faery-folks and witches. 

Dear heart! — the legend is not vain 
Which lights that holy hearth again ; 
And, calling back from care and pain, 

And death's funereal sadness. 
Draws round its old familiar blaze 
The clustering groups of happier days. 
And lends to sober manhood's gaze 

A glimpse of childish gladness. 

And, knowing how my life hath been 
A weary work of tongue and pen, 
A long, harsh strife, with strong-willed 
men, 

Thou wilt not chide my turning 
To con, at times, an idle rhyme, 
To pluck a flower from childhood's clime, 
Or listen, at life's noonday chime. 

For the sweet bells of morning ! 

John Greenleap Wdittiee. 



THE OLD MAID. 

Why sits she thus in solitude? Her heart 

Seems melting in her eyes' delicious blue ; 
And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart. 

As if to let its heavy throbbings through ; 
In her dark eye a depth of softness swells, 

Deeeper than that her careless girlhood 
wore ; 
And her cheek crimsons with the hue that 
tells 

The rich, fair fruit is ripened to the core. 

It is her thirtieth birthday 1 With a sigh 
Her soul hath turned from youth's luxuri- 
I ant bowers, 

And her heart taken up the last" sweet tie 
That measured out its links of golden 
hours ! 



She feels her inmost soul within her stir 
With thoughts too wild and passionate to 
speak ; 

Yet her full heart— its own interpreter — 
Translates itself in silence on her cheek 

Joy's opening buds, aftection's glowing flow- 
ers, 
Once lightly sprang within her beaming 
track ; 
Oh, life was beautiful in those lost hours ! 

And yet she does not wish to wander back ; 
No ! she but loves in loneliness to think 
On pleasures past, though never more to 
be ; 
Hope links her to the future — but the link 
That binds her to the past is memory. 

From her lone path she never turns aside. 
Though passionate worshippers before her 
fall ; 
Like some pure planet in her lonely pride, 

She seems to soar and beam above them all. 
Not that her heart is cold — emotions now 
And fresh as flowers are with her -heart- 
strings knit ; 
And sweetly mournful pleasures wander 
through 
Her virgin soul, and softly ruffle it. 

For she hath lived with heart and soul alive 

To all that makes life beautiful and fair ; 
Sweet thoughts, like honey-bees, have made 
their hive 

Of her soft bosom-cell, and cluster there. 
Yet life is not to her what it hath been — 

Her soul hath learned to look beyond its 
gloss ; 
And now she hovers, like a star, between 

Her deeds of love, her Saviour on the cross ! 

Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow, 

Though she hath ofttimes drained its bit- 
ter cup ; 
But ever wanders on with heavenward brow, 

And eyes whose lovely lids are lifted up. 
She feels that in that lovelier, happier sphere 

Her bosom yet will, bird-like, find its mate, 
And all the joys it found so blissful hero 

Within that spirit-realm perpetuate. 



636 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Yet sometimes o'er her trembling heart- 
strings thrill 
Soft sighs — for raptures it hath ne'er en- 
joyed ; 
And then she dreams of love, and strives to fill 
With wild and passionate thoughts the 
craving void. 
And thus she wanders on — half sad, half 
hlest — 
Without a mate for the pure, lonely heart 
That, yearning, throbs within her virgin 
breast, 
2>rever to find its lovely counterpart ! 

AjiEtiA B. Welbt, 



MOTHER MARGERY. 

On a bleak ridge, from whose granite edges 

Sloped the rough land to the grisly north ; 
And whose hemlocks, clinging to the ledges. 

Like a thinned banditti staggered forth — 
fn a crouching, w^rmy-timbered hamlet 

Mother Margery shivered in the cold. 
With a tattered robe of faded camlet 

On her shoulders — crooked, weak, and old. 

Time on her had done his cruel pleasure ; 

For her face was very dry and thin. 
And the records of his growing measure 

Lined and cross-lined all her shrivelled skin. 
Scanty goods to her had been allotted. 

Yet her thanks rose oftener than desire ; 
While her bony fingers, bent and knotted, 

Fed with withered twigs the dying fire. 

Raw and weary were the northern winters ; 

Winds howled piteously around her cot, 
Or with rude sighs made the jarring splinters 

Moan the misery she bemoaned not. 
Drifting tempests rattled at her windows. 

And hung snow-wreaths around her naked 
bed; 
While the wind-flaws muttered on the cinders. 

Till the last spark fluttered and was dead. 

Life had fresher hopes when she was younger. 
But their dying wrung out no complaints; 

Chill, and penury, and neglect, and hunger — 
These to Margery were guardian saints. 



When she sat, her head was, prayer-like, 
bending ; 
When she rose, it rose not any more ; 
Faster seemed her true hea'-t gravoward 
tending 
Than her tired feet, weak and travel-sore. 



She w^as mother of the dead and scattered — 

Had been mother of the brave and tair ; 
But her branches, bough by bough, were 
shattered. 

Till her torn breast was left dry and 
bare. 
Yet she knew, though sadly desolated, 

When the children of the poor depart 
Their earth-vestures are but sublimated, 

So to gather closer :n the heart. 



With a courage that had never fitted 

Words to speak it to the soul it blessed. 
She endured, in silence and unpitied, 

Woes enough to mar a stouter breast. 
Thus was born such holy trust within her, 

That the graves of all who had been dear. 
To a region clearer and serener. 

Raised her spirit from our chilly sphere. 

They were footsteps on her Jacob's ladder ; 

Angels to her were the loves and hopes 
Which had left her purified, but sadder ; 

And they lured her to the emerald slopes 
Of that heaven where anguish never flashes 

Her red fire-whips, — happy land, where 
flowers 
Blossom over the volcanic ashes 

Of this blighting, blighted world of ours! 

All her power was a love of goodness ; 

All her wisdom was a mystic faith 
That the rough world's jargoniug and rude- 
ness 
Turns to music at the gate of death. 
So she walked while feeble limbs allowed 
her, 
Knowing well that any stubborn grief 
She might meet with could no more than 
crowd her 
To that wall whose opening was relief 



THE NYMPH'S SONG. 637 


So she lived, an anchoress of sorrow, 


Why do foolish men so vainly 


Lone and peaceful, on the rocky slope ; 


Seek contentment in their store, 


And, -when burning trials came, would bor- 


Since they may perceive so plainly 


row 


Thou art rich in being poor — 


New fire of them for the lamp of hope. 


And that they are vexed about it, 


AYhen at last her palsied hand, in groping, 


Whilst thou merry art without it ? 


Eattled tremulous at the grated tomb, 




ITeaven flashed round her joys beyond her 
hoping, 
And her young soul gladdened into bloom. 
George S. Burleigh. 


Why are idle brains devising 
How high titles may be gained. 

Since by those poor toys despising 
Thou bast higher things obtained? 


^ 


For the man who scorns to crave them 




Greater is than they that have them. 


THE NYMPH'S SONG. 


If all men could taste that sweetness 


Gentle swain, good speed befall thee ; 

And in love still prosper thou ! 
Future times shall happy call thee. 

Though thou lie neglected now. 
Virtue's lovers shall commend thee. 


Thou dost in thy meanness know. 
Kings wou-ld be to seek where greatness 

And their honors to bestow ; 
For it such content would breed them 
As they would not think they need them. 


And perpetual fame attend thee. 


* 




And if those who so aspiring 


Happy are these woody mountains, 


To the court preferments be. 


In whose shadows thou dost hide ; 


Knew how worthy the desiring 


And as happy are those fountains 


Those things are enjoyed by thee. 


By whose murmurs thou dost bide : 


Wealth and titles would hereafter 


For contents are here excelling. 


Subjects be for scorn and laughter. 


More than in a prince's dwelling. 






He that courtly styles affected 


These thy flocks do clothing bring thee, 


Should a May-lord's honor have- 


And thy food out of the fields ; 


He that heaps of wealth collected 


Pretty songs the birds do sing thee ; 


Should be counted as a slave ; 


Sweet perfumes the meadow yields ; 


And the man with few'st things cumbered 


And what more is worth the seeing. 


With the noblest should be numbered. 


Heaven and earth thy prospect being ? 




None comes hither who denies thee 
Thy contentments for despite ; 

Neither any that envies thee 
That wherein thou dost delight : 

But all happy things are meant thee, 

And whatever may content theo. 


Thou their folly hast discerned 
That neglect thy mind and thee ; 

And to slight them thou hast learned. 
Of what title e'er they be ; 

That no more with thee obtaineth 

Than with them thy meanness gaineth. 


Thy affection reason measures. 


All their riches, honors, pleasures. 


And distempers none it feeds ; 


Poor unworthy trifles seem, 


Still so harmless are thy pleasures 


If compared with thy treasures — 


That no other's grief it breeds ; 


And do merit no esteem ; 


And if night beget thee sorrow, 


For they true contents provide thee, 


Seldom stays it till tlic morrow. 


And from them can none divide thee. 



638 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Wliether thralled or exiled, 

Whether poor or rich thou be — 

Whether praised or reviled, 
Not a rush it is to thee ; 

This nor that thy rest doth win thee. 

But the mind which is within thee. 



Then, oh why so madly dote we 
On those things that us o'erload ? 

"Why no more their vainness note we, 
But still make of them a god ? 

Eor, alas ! they still deceive us, 

And in greatest need they leave us. 

Therefore have the fates provided 
Well, thou happy swain, for thee. 

That may'st here so far divided 
From the world's distractions be. 

Thee distemper let them never. 

But in peace continue ever. 

In these lonely groves enjoy thou 
That contentment here begun ; 

And thy hours so pleased emjiloy thou. 
Till the latest glass be run. 

From a fortune so assured 

By no temptings be allured. 

Much good do 't them, with their glories, 
Who in courts of princes dwell ; 

We have read in antique stories 
How some rose and how they fell — 

And 't is worthy well the heeding. 

There 's like end where 's like proceeding. 

Be thou stiU in thy affection 

To thy noble mistress true ; 
Let her never-matched perfection • 

Be the same unto thy view ; 
And let never other beauty 
Make thee fail in love or duty. 

For if thou shalt not estranged 
From thy course professed be, 

But remain for aye unchanged, 
Nothing shall have power on thee. 

Those that slight thee now shall love thee, 

And in spite of spite approve thee. 



So those virtues now neglected 
To be more esteemed will come ; 

Yea, those toys so much affected 
Many shall be wooed from ; 

And the golden age deplored 

Shall by some be thought restored. 

George Withsb. 



ON ANACEEON. 

AnouifD the tomb, O bard divine. 
Where soft thy hallowed brow reposes. 

Long may the deathless ivy twine. 
And summer pour her waste of roses ! 

And many a fount shall there distil, 
And many a rill refresh the flowers ; 

But wine shall gush in every rill. 

And every fount yield milky showers. 

Thus — shade of him Avhom nature taught 
To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure — 

Who gave to love his warmest thought. 
Who gave to love his fondest measure — 

Thus, after death if spirits feel 

Thou may' st from odors round thee stream- 

A pulse of past enjoyment steal, 
And live again in blissful dreapaing. 

Antipater of Sidon, (Greek.) 
raraphrase of Thomas Mooke. 



AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE 
DRAMATIC POET W. SHAKESPEARE. 

What needs my Shakespeare for his honored 

bones — 
The labor of an age in piled stones ? 
Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid 
Under a starry -pointing pyramid ? 
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame. 
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy 

name ? 
Thou in our wonder and astonishment 
Hast built thyself a live-long monument. 



LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN. 



639 



For wljilst to the shame of slow-endeavoring 

art 
Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 
Ilath from the leaves of thy unvalued book 
Those Delphic lines with deep impression 

took, 
Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, 
Dost make us marble with too mucli conceiv- 

And, so sepulchred, in sucli pomp dost lie 
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. 

John Milton. 



SHAKESPEARE. 

How little fades from earth when sink to rest 

The hours and cares that move a great man's 
breast ! 

Though nought of all we saw the grave may 
spare, 

His life pervades the world's impregnate air ; 

Though Shakespeare's dust beneath our foot- 
steps lies, 

Ilis spirit breathes amid his native skies ; 

With meaning won from him for ever glows 

Each air that England feels, and star it 
knows ; 

His whispered words from many a mother's 
voice 

Can make her sleeping child in dreams re- 
joice ; 

And gleams from spheres he first conjoined 
to eartli 

Are blent with rays of each new morning's 
birth. 

Amid the sights and tales of common things, 

Leaf, flower, and. bird, and wars, and. deaths 
of kings, — 

Of shore, and sea, and nature's daily round. 

Of life that tills, and tombs that load, the 
ground. 

His visions mingle, swell, command, pace by, 

And haunt with living presence heart and eye ; 

And tones from him, by other bosoms caught. 

Awaken flush and stir of mo-nnling thought ; 

And the long sigh, and deep impassioned 
thrill. 

Rouse custom's trance and spur the faltering 
will. 



Above the goodly land, more his than ours. 

He sits supreme, enthroned in skyey towers ; 

And sees the heroic brood of his creation 

Teach larger life to his ennobled nation. 

shaping brain! O flashing fancy's hues! 

O boundless heart, kept fresh by pity's dews! 

wit humane and blithe! sense sublime! 

For each dim oracle of mantled time ! 

Transcendant form of man! in whom wo 
read 

Mankind's whole tale of impulse, thought 
and deed ! 

Amid the expanse of years, beholding thee. 

We know how vast our world of life may be ; 

Wherein, perchance, with aims as pure as 
thine. 

Small tasks and strengths may be no less di- 
vine. 

JonN Sterling. 



LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN. 

SoTjLS of poets dead and gone, 
What Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern, 
Choicer than the Mermaid tavern ? 
Have ye tippled drink more fine 
Tlian mine host's Canary Avine? 
Or are fruits of Paradise 
Sweeter than those dainty pies 
Of venison? O generous. food! 
Drest as though bold Robin Hood 
Would, with his muid Marian, 
Sup and bowse from horn and can. 

I have heard that on a day 
Mine host's sign-board flew away, 
Nobody knew whither, till 
An astrologer's old quill 
To a sheepskin gave the story, — • 
Said he saw you in your glory. 
Underneath a new old-sign 
Sipping beverage divine. 
And pledging with contented smack, 
The Mermaid in the zodiac. 

Souls of poets dead and gone. 
What Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern. 
Choicer than the Mermaid tavern ? 

JouN Keats. 



640 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



AN ODE— TO HIMSELF. 

"Wheee dost thou careless lie 

Buried in ease and sloth ? 
Knowledge that sleeps, doth die : 
And this security, 

It is the common moth 
That eats on wits and arts, and so destroys 

them hoth. 

Are all the Aonian springs 

Dried up ? lies Thespia waste ? 
Doth Clarius' harp want strings, 
That not a nymph now sings ? 
Or droop they as disgraced 
To see their seats and bowers by chattering 
pies defaced ? 

If hence thy silence be. 

As 't is too just a cause — 
Let this thought quicken thee ; 
Minds that are great and free 

Should not on fortune pause ; 
'T is crown enough to virtue still, her own 

applause. 

What though the greedy fry 

Be taken with false baits 
Of worded balladry. 
And think it poesy ? 

They die with their conceits, 
And only piteous scorn upon their folly 

waits. 

Then take in Land thy lyre. 

Strike in thy proper strain ; 
With Japhet's line aspire 
Sol's chariot for new fire 

To give the world again; 
Who aided hirii, will thee, the issue of 

Jove's brain. 

And since our dainty age 
Cannot endure reproof, 
Make not thyself a page 
To that strumpet, the stage ; 
But sing high and aloof 
Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the 
dull ass's hoof. 

Ben Jonsok. 



THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTING. 



AN ECLOGUE. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

PJularete on Willy call.% 

To sing out his pa sf orals, • 

Warrants fame shall grace his rhymes, 

''Spite of envy and the times ; 

And sJieics how in care he uses 

To take comfort from his muses. 



Philarete ; Willy. 

PniLAEETE. 

Prtthee, Willy! tell me this — 
What new accident there is 
That thou, once the blithest lad, 
Art become so wondrous sad, 
And so careless of thy quill. 
As if thou hadst lost thy skill ? 
Thou wert wont to charm tliy flocks, 
And among the massy rocks 
Hast so cheered me with thy song 
That I have forgot my wrong. 
Something hath thee surely crost, 
That thy old wont thou hast lost. 
Tell me — ^have I ought mis-said, 
That hath made thee ill-apaid ? 
Hath some churl done thee a spite ? 
Dost thou miss a lamb to-night? 
Frowns thy fairest shepherd's lass? 
Or how comes this ill to pass? 
Is there any discontent 
Worse than this my banishment ? 

Willy. 

Why, doth that so evil seem 
That thou nothing worse dost deem ? 
Shepherds there full many be 
That will change contents with thee ; 
Those that choose their walks at wilL 
On the valley or tlie hill — 
Or those pleasures boast of can 
Groves or fields may yield to man — 
Never come to know tlie rest. 
Wherewithal thy mind is blest. 
Many a one that oft resorts 
To make up the troop at sports, 



1 
THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTING. Oil 


And in company some while 


Coridon, with his bold rout, 


Happens to strain forth a smile, 


Hath already been about 


Feels more Avant and outward smart, 


For the elder shepherd's dole, 


And more inward grief of heart, 


And fetched in the summer-pole ; 


Tlian this place can bring to thee, 


Whilst the rest have built a bower 


While thy mind remaineth free. 


To defend them from a shower — 


Thou bewail'st my want of mirth— 


Coiled so close, with boughs all green, 


But what find'st thou in this earth 


Titan cannot pry between. 


Wherein aught may be believed 


Now the dairy wenches dream 


Worth to make me joyed or grieved ? 


Of their strawberries and cream ; 


And yet feel I, uaitheless, 


And each doth herself advance 


Part of both I must confess. 


To be taken in to dance ; 


Sometime I of mirth do borrow- 


Every one that knows to sing 


Otherwhile as much of sorroAv; 


Fits him for his carolling ; 


But my present state is such 


So do those that hope for meed 


As nor joy nor grieve I much. 


Either by the pipe or reed ; 




And, though I am kept away. 


PIIILAEETE. 


I do hear, this very day, 


Why hath Willy then so long 


Many learned grooms do wend 


Thus forborne his wonted song? 


For the garlands to contend ; 


AVherefore doth he now let fall 


Which a nymph, that hight Desert, 


His well-tuned pastoral, 


Long a stranger in this part, 


And my ears that music bar 


With her own fair hand hath wrought- 


Which I more long after far 


A rare Avork, they say, past thought. 


Than the liberty I want ? 


As appeareth by the name, 




For she calls them wreaths of fame. 


WILLY. 


She hath set in their due place t 


That were very much to grant. 


Every flower that may grace; 


But doth this hold alway, lad — 


And among a thousand moe, 


Those that sing not must be sad? 


Whereof some but serve for show, 


Didst thou ever that bird hear 


She hath wove in Daphne's tree, 


Sing well that sings all the year? 


That they may not blasted be ; 


Tom the piper doth not play 


Which with time sli-e edged about, 


Till he wears his pipe away — 


Lest the work should ravel out ; 


There's a time to slack the string, 


And that it might wither never. 


And a time to leave to sing. 


Intermixed it with live-ever. 




These are to be shared among 


PniLAEETE. 


Those that do excel for song, 


Yea ! but no man now is still 


Or their passions can rehearse 


That can sing or tune a quill. 


In the smooth 'st and sweetest verso. 


Now to chaunt it were but reason — • 


Then for those among the rest 


Song and music are in season. 


That can play and pipe the best, 


Now, in this sweet jolly tide, 


There's a kidling with the dam, 


Is the earth in all her pride ; 


A fat wether and a lamb. 


The fair lady of the May, 


And for those that leapcn far, 


Trimmed up in her best array, 


Wrestle, run, and throw the bar, 


Hath invited all the swains, 


There's appointed guerdons too: 


With the lasses of the plains. 


He that best the first can do 


To attend upon her sport 


Shall for his reward be paid 


At the places of resort. 
85 


With a sheep-liook, fair inlaid 



042 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



With fine bone of a strange beast 
That men bring out of the west ; 
For the next a scrip of red, 
Tasselled ■svitli fine colored thread ; 
There's prepared for their meed 
That in running make most speed, 
Or the cunning measures foot, 
Cups, of turned maple-root, 
Whereupon the skilful man 
Hath engraved the loves of Pan ; 
And the last hath for his due 
A fine napkin wrought with blue. 
Then, my Willy, why art thou 
Careless of thy merit now ? 
What dost thou here, with a wight 
That is shut up from delight 
In a solitary den, 
As not fit to live with men? 
Go, my Willy ! get thee gone — 
Leave me in exile alone ; 
Hie thee to that merry throng, 
And amaze them with thy song ! 
Thou art young, yet such a lay 
IlTever graced the month of May, 
As, if they provoke thy skill. 
Thou canst fit unto thy quill. 
I with wonder heard thee sing 
At our last year's revelling. 
Then I with the rest was free, 
When, unknown, I noted thee. 
And perceived the ruder swains 
Envy thy far sweeter strains. 
Yea, I saw the lasses cling 
Round about thee in a ring. 
As if each one jealous were 
Any but herself should hear ; 
And I know they yet do long 
For the residue of thy song. 
Haste thee then to sing it forth ; 
Take the benefit of worth ; 
And Desert will sure bequeath 
Fame's fair garland for thy wreath 
Hie thee, Willy ! hie away. 



PhUa ! rather let me stay. 
And be desolate with thee. 
Than at those their revels be. 
Naught such is my skill, I wis. 
As indeed thou deem'st it is : 



But whate'er it be, I must 
Be content, and shall, I trust. 
For a song I do not pass 
'Mongst my friends ; but what, alas ! 
Should I have to do with them 
That my music do contemn? 
Some there are, as well I wot, 
That the same yet favor not ; 
Yet I cannot well avow 
They my carols disallow ; 
But such malice I have spied, 
'T is as much as if they did. 

PniLAEETE. 

Willy ! what may those men be 
Are so ill to malice thee ? 

"WILLY. 

Some are worthy-well esteemed ; 
Some without worth, are so deemed ; 
Others of so base a spirit 
They have nor esteem nor merit 

PniLARETE. 

What's the wronc;? .... 



WILL'S . 

A slight offence, 

Wherewithal I can dispense ; 
But hereafter, for their sake. 
To myself I '11 music make. 

PHILAEETE. 

What, because some clown offends. 
Wilt thou punish all thy friends ? 



Do not, Phil ! misunderstand me — • 
Those that love me may command me ; 
But thou know'st I am but young. 
And the pastoral I sung 
Is by some supposed to be. 
By a strain, too high for me ; 
So they kindly let me gain 
Not my labor for my pain. 
Trust me, I do wonder why 
They should me my own deny. 
Though I 'm young, I scorn to flit 
On the wings of borrowed wit ; 
I '11 make my own feathers rear me, 
Whither others cannot bear me. 



THE SIIEFIIERD'S HUNTING. 



643 



Yet I '11 keep my skill in store, 
Till I 've seen some v/inters more. 



I'lIILAIJETE. 

But in earnest mean'st thou so? — 

Then thou art not wise, I trow : 

Better shall advise thee Pan, 

For thou dost not rightly then; 

That 's the ready way to hlot 

All the credit thou hast got. 

Rather in thy age's prime 

Get another start of time ; 

And make those that so fond be, 

Spite of their own dulness, see 

That the sacred muses can 

Make a child in years a man. 

It is known what thou canst do ; 

For it is not long ago, 

When that Cuddy, thou and I, 

Each the other's skill to tiy. 

At Saint Dunstan's charmed well, 

As some present there can tell, 

Sang upon a sudden theme. 
Sitting by the crimson stream ; 
Where if thou didst well or no 
Yet remains the song to show. 
Much experience more I 've had 
Of thy skill, thou happy lad ; 
And would make the world to know it, 
But that time will further show it. 
Envy makes their tongues now run. 
More than doubt of what is done ; 
For that needs must be thine own. 
Or to be some other's known ; 
But how then will 't suit unto 
What thou shalt hereafter do ? 
Or I wonder where is he 
Would with that song part with thee ! 
Nay, were there so mad a swain 
Could such glory sell for gain, 
Phoebus would not have combined 
That gift with so base a mind. 
Never did the nine impart 
The sweet secrets of their art 
Unto any that did scorn 
We should see their favors worn. 
Therefore, unto those that say 
Were they pleased to sing a lay 
They could do 't, and will not tho' 
This I speak, for this I know — 



None e'er drank the Thespian spring, 

And knew how, but he did sing; 

For, that once infused in man. 

Makes him shew 't, do what he can ; 

Nay, those that do only sip. 

Or but e'en their fingers dip 

In that sacred fount, poor elves ! 

Of that brood will show themselves. 

Yea, in hope to get them fame, 

They will speak, though to their shame. 

Let those, then, at thee repine 

Tliat by their wits measure thine; 

Needs those songs must be thine own, 

And that one day will be known. 

That poor imputation, too, 

I myself do undergo ; 

But it will appear, ere long. 

That 't was envy sought our wrong. 

Who, at twice ten, have sung more 

Than some will do at four score. 

Cheer thee, honest Willy ! then, 

And begin thy song again. 



Fain I would ; but I do fear, 
When again my lines they hear, 
If they yield they are my rhymes, 
They will feign some other crimes ; 
And 'tis no safe venturing by 
Where we see detraction lie ; 
For, do what I can, I doubt 
She will pick some quarrel out ; 
And I oft have heard defended 
Little said is soon amended. 

PHILAEETE. 

See'st thou not, in clearest days 

Oft thick fogs cloud heaven's rays ? 

And that vapors, which do breathe 

From the earth's gross womb beneath, 

Seem unto us with black steams 

To pollute the sun's bright beams — 

And yet vanish into air. 

Leaving it, unblemished, fair? 

So, my Willy, shall it be 

With detraction's breath on thee — 

It shall never rise so high 

As to stain thy poesy. 

As that sun doth oft exhale 

Vapors from each rotten vale. 



644 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Poesy so sometimes drains 

Gross conceils from muddy brains — 

Mists of envy, fogs of spite, 

'Tvvixt men's judgments and her light; 

But so much her power may do 

That she can dissolve them too. 

If thy verse do bravely tower, 

As slie makes wing she gets power ; 

Yet the higher she doth soar 

She 's affronted still the more. 

Till she to the high'st hath past , 1 

Then she rests with fame at last. 

Let naught, therefore, thee affright. 

But make forward in thy flight. 

For, if I could match thy rhyme. 

To the very stars I 'd climb ; 

There begin again, and fly 

Till I reached eternity. 

But, alas ! my muse is slow — 

Tor thy place she flags too low ; 

Yea — the more 's her hapless fate — 

Her short wings were dipt of late ; 

And poor I, her fortune ruing, 

And myself put up a-mewing. 

]3ut if I my cage can rid, 

I '11 fly where I never did ; 

And though for her sake I'm crost, 

Though my best hopes I have lost, 

And knew she would make my trouble 

Ten times more than ten times double, 

I should love and keep her too, 

'Spite of all the world could do. 

For, though banished from my flocks. 

And confined within these rocks. 

Here I waste away the light. 

And consume the sullen night, 

She doth for my comfort stay, 

And keeps many cares away. 

Though I miss the flow'ry fields. 

With those sweets the spring - tide 

yields — 
Though I may not see these groves 
"Where the shepherds chaunt their loves, 
And the lasses more excel 
Than the sweet-voiced Philomel — 
Though of all those pleasures past 
Nothing now remains at last 
But remembrance, poor relief. 
That more makes than mends my grief — 
She 's my mind's com])anion still, 
Maugre envy's evil will ; 



"Whence she should be driven too, 

"Were 't in mortal's power to do. 

She doth tell me where to borrow 

Comfort in the midst of sorrow, 

Makes the desolatest place 

To her presence be a grace. 

And the blackest discontents 

To be pleasing ornaments. 

In my former days of bliss 

Iler divine skill taught me this — 

That from every thing I saw 

I could some invention draw, 

And raise pleasure to her height 

Through the meanest object's sight; 

By the murmur of a spring. 

Or the least bough's rusteling — 

By a daisy, whose leaves, spread. 

Shut when Titan goes to bed — 

Or a shady bush or tree. 

She could more infuse in me 

Than all nature's beauties can 

In some other wiser man. 

By her help I also now 

Make this churlish place allow 

Some things that may sweeten gladuesi^ 

In the very gall of sadness : 

The dull loneness, the black shade 

That these hanging-vaults have made; 

The strange music of the waves. 

Beating on these hollow caves; 

This black den, which rocks emboss, 

Overgrown with eldest moss ; 

The rude portals that give light 

More to terror than delight ; 

This my chamber of neglect, 

AValled about with disrespect ; — 

From all tliese, and this dull air, 

A fit object for despair, 

She hatli taught me, by her might, 

To draw comfort and delight. 

Therefore, thou best earthly bliss ! 

I will cherish thee for this. 

Poesy, thou sweet'st content , 

That e'er heaven to mortals lent ! 

Though they as a trifle leave thee 

Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive 

thee — 
Though thou be to tliem a scorn 
That to naught but eartli are born — 
Let my life no longer be 
Than I am in love with thee ; 



COWPER'S GRAVE. 



645 



Tliougli our wise ones call thee madness, 
Let me never taste of gladness 
If I love not thy madd'st fits 
More than all their greatest wits ; 
And though some, too seeming holy, 
Do account thy raptures folly, 
Thou dost teach me to contemn 
"What makes knaves and fools of them. 

high power ! that oft doth carry 
Men above 

WILLY. 

, . . . Good Philarete, tarry! 

1 do fear thou wilt be gone 
Quite above my reach anon. 
The kind flames of poesy 

Have now borne thy thoughts so higli 

That they up in heaven be, 

And have quite forgotten me. 

Call thyself to mind again — 

Are these raptures for a swain^ 

That attends on lowly sheep, 

And with simple herds doth keep ? 

THILAEETE, 

Thanks, my Willy ! I had run 

Till that time had lodged the sun. 

If thou hadst not made me stay ; 

But thy pardon here I pray ; 

Loved Apollo's sacred sire 

Had raised up my spirits higher, 

Through the love of poesy, 

Than indeed they use to fly. 

But as I said I say still — 

If that I had Willy's skill 

Envy nor detraction's tongue 

Should e'er make me leave my song; 

But I 'd sing it every day, 

Till they pined themselves away. 

Be thou then advised in this, 

Which both just and fitting is — 

Finish what thou hast begun. 

Or at least still forward run. 

Hail and thunder ill he '11 bear 

That a blast of wind dotb fear ; 

And if words will thus affray thee, 

Prythee how will deeds dismay thee ? 

Do not think so rathe a song 

Can pass through the vulgar throng. 

And escape without a touch — 

Or that they can hurt it much. 



Frosts we see do nip that thing 
Which is forward'st in the spring ; 
Yet at last, for all such lets, 
Somewhat of the rest it gets ; 
And I 'm sure that so mayst thou. 
Therefore, my kind Willy, now, 
Since thy folding-time draws on, 
And I see thou must be gone, 
Thee I earnestly beseech 
To remember this my speech. 
And some little counsel take, 
For Philarete his sake ; 
And I more of this will say, 
If thou come next holiday. 

George Wither, 



COWPEE'S GEAVE. 

I will inyite thee, from thy envious hearse 

To rise, and 'bout the world thy ber.ms to spread, 

That we may see there 's brightness in the dead. 

IIakringtom. 

It is a place where poets crowned 

May feel the heart's decaying — 
It is a place where happy saints 

May weep amid their praying ; 
Yet let the grief and humbleness. 

As low as silence, languish — 
Earth surely now may give her calm 

To whom she gave her anguish. 

O poets ! from a maniac's tongue 

Was poured the deathless singing! 
Christians ! at your cross of hope 

A hopeless hand was clinging ! 
O men ! this man, in brotherhood, 

Your weary paths beguiling, 
Groaned inly while he taught you peace, 

And died while ye were smiling! 

And now, what time ye all may read 

Through dimming tears his story — 
How discord on the music fell, 

And darkness on the glory — 
And how, when one by one, sweet sounds 

And wandering lights departed. 
He wore no less a loving face. 

Because so broken-hearted — 



646 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



He sliall be strong to sanctify 

The jioet's liigli vocation, 
And bow tbe meekest Christian down 

In meeker adoration ; 
"N^or ever shall he be in praise 

By wise or good forsaken — 
Named softly, as the household name 

Of one Avhom God hath taken ! 

With sadness that is calm, not gloom, 

I learn to think upon him ; 
With meekness that is gratefulness. 

On God whose heaven hath won him — 
Who suffered once the madness-cloud 

Toward his love to blind him ; 
But gently led the blind along 

Where breath and bird could find him ; 

And wrought within his shattered brain 

Such quick poetic senses 
As hills have language for, and stars 

Harmonious influences! 
The pulse of dew upon the grass, 

His own did calmly number ; 
And silent shadow from the trees 

Fell o'er him like a slumber. 

The very world, by God's constraint. 

From falsehood's chill removing. 
Its women and its men became, 

Beside him, true and loving ! — 
And timid hares were drawn from woods 

To share his home-caresses, 
Uplooking to his human eyes 

With sylvan tendernesses. 

But while in blindness he remained 

Unconscious of the guiding. 
And things provided came without 

The sweet sense of providing, 
He testified this solemn truth. 

Though frenzy desolated — 
N'or man nor nature satisfy, 

When only God created ! 

Like a sick child that knoweth not 

His mother while she blesses. 
And droppeth on his burning brow 

The coolness of her kisses * 



That turns his fevered eyes around — 
" My mother ! where 's ray mother ? " — 

As if such tender words and looks 
Could come from any other — 

The fever gone, with leaps of heart 

He sees her bending o'er him ; 
Her face all pale from watchful love, 

Th' unweary love she bore him ! 
Tluis woke the poet from the dream 

His life's long fever gave him, 
Beneath these deep pathetic eyes 

Which closed in death to save him ! 

Thus ! oh, not tlius ! no type of earth 

Could image that awaking. 
Wherein he scarcely heard the chant 

Of seraphs, round him breaking — 
Or felt the new immortal throb 

Of soul from body parted ; 
But felt those eyes alone, and knew 

" My Saviour ! not deserted ! " 

Deserted ! who hath di'eamt that when 

The cross in darkness rested, 
Upon the victim's hidden face 

No love was manifested? ■ 
What frantic hands outstretched have e'er 

The atoning drops averted — 
What tears have washed them from the 
soul — 

That one should be deserted? 

Deserted ! God could separate 

From His own essence rather; 
And Adam's sins have swept between 

The righteous Son and Father — 
Yea ! once, Immanuel's orphaned cry 

His universe hath shaken — 
It went up single, echoless, 

" My God, I am forsaken ! " 

It went up from the holy lips 

Amid Ilis lost creation, 
That of the lost no son should use 

Tliose words of desolation ; 
That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope, 

Should mar not hope's fruition ; 
And I, on Cowper's grave, should see 

His rapture, in a vision ! 

Elizabeth Barrett Brownins, 



THE VISION. 



GV, 



THE VISIQK 

DUAX FIEST. 

The suii Lad closed the winter day, 
The curlers qxiat their roaring play, 
An' hungered mankin ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whar she has been. 

TJie thresher's weary llingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And whan the day had closed his ee. 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' tlio spence right pensivelie 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and eyed the spewing reek, 
That filled, wi' hoast-provoking smeek. 

The auld clay biggin ; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About tlie riggin'. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 

I backward nmsed on wasted time — 

IIow I had spent my youthfu' prime. 

An' done uae thing 
But stringin' blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market. 
Or strutted in a bank and clarkit 

My cash-account ; 
"While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, muttering, "blockhead! coof!" 
And heaved on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith, 
That I, hcncefortli, Avould be rhyme proof 

Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the snick did draw ; 
And jeej the door gaed to the wa' ; 
An' by my ingle lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin' bright, 
A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw. 

Come full in sight. 



Ye need na doubt I held my whist — 
The infant aith, half-formed, was crusht , 
I glowered as eerie 's I 'd been dush't 

In some wild glen, 
"When sweet, like modest worth, she bluslit, 

And stepped ben . 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows ; 
I took her for some Scottish muse 

By that same token, 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken. 

A " hair-brained sentimental trace " 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildy-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turned on empty space, 

Beamed keen with honor. 

Down flowed her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg! — my bonnie Jean 

Could only peer it; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue. 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand, 
And seemed, to my astonished view, 

A well-known laud. 

Here rivers in the sea were lost ; 

There mountains to the skies were tost ; 

Here tumbling billows marked the coast 

With surging foam ; 
There distant shone art's lofty boast. 

The lordly dome. 

Here Doon poured down his far-fetched floods ; 
There well-fed Irwine stately thuds ; 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods. 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient borough reared her head; 



J 



G48 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Still, a,s in Scottish story read, 
She boasts a race 

To every nobler virtue bred, 

And i^olished grace. 



By stately tower or palace feir, 

Or ruins pendent in the air, 

Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seemed to muse — some seemed to dare. 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 

To see a race heroic wheel, 

And brandish round the deep-dyed steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seemed to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His country's saviour, mark him well ! 
Bold Richardton's heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sark who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptered Pictish shade 
Stalked round his ashes lowly laid, 
I marked a martial race, portrayed 

In colors strong ; 
Bold, soldier-featured, undismayed, 

They strode along. 

Through many a wild, romantic grove, 
Near many a hermit-fancied cove 
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love), 

In musing mood. 
An aged judge, I saw him rove. 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned sire and son I saw : 
To nature's God and nature's law 

They gave their lore ; 
This, all its source and end to draw — 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave ward I well could sj^y 

Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye, 

Who called on fame, low standing by , 

To hand him on 
Where many a patriot-name on high, 

And hero shone. 



DUAX SECOND. 

With musing deep, astonished stare, 
I viewed the heavenly-seeming fair ; 
A whispering throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet. 
When, Avith an elder sister's air. 

She did me erect : — 



All hail ! my own inspired bard 
In me thy native muse regard ; 
l^^"or longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

Know the great genius of this land 
Has many a light aerial band. 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand, 

Their labors ply. 

They Scotia's race among them share : 
Some fire the soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart ; 
Some teach the bard — a darling care — 

The tuneful art. 

'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore 
They ardent, kindling spirits pour; 
Or 'mid the venal senate's roar 

They, siglitless, stand, 
To mend the honest patriot lore. 

And grace the land. 

And when the bard, or hoary sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wild poetic rage 

In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue; 
Hence sweet harmonious Bcattie sung 

His minstrel lays; 
Or tore, with noble ardor stung, 

The sceptic's bays. 



THE VISION 



G49 



To lower ordci's are assigned 

The liumbler rauks of human kind : 

Tlie rustic bard, the lab'ring hind, 

The artisan — 
All choose, as various tiiey 're inclined. 

The various man. 

When yellow waves the heavy grain. 
The threat'uicg storm some strongly rein ; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain 

Witli tillage skill ; 
And some insti-uct the shepherd train, 

Blythe o'er the hill. 

Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile; 
Some sooth the lab'rer's weary toil 

For humble gains. 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

Some, bounded to a district-space, 
Explore at large man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace, 

Of rustic bard ; 
And careful note each op'ning grace — • 

A guide and guard. 

Of these am I — Coila my name; 

And this district as mine I claim. 

Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame. 

Held ruling pow'r; 
T marked thy embryo tuneful flame, 

Thy natal hour. 

With future hope I oft would gaze, 
Fond, on tliy little early ways, 
Thy rudely carolled, chiming phrase 

In uncouth rhymes. 
Fired at the simple artless lays 

Of other times. 

I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the north his fleecy store 

Drove through the sky, 
I saw grim nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
Warm cherished every flow'ret's birth, 
86 



And joy and music pouring forth 

In every grove, 
I saw thee eye tlie general mirth 

With boundless love. 

When ripened fields and azure skies 
Called forth the reapers' rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys, 

And lonely stalk 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
Those accents grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 

To sooth thy flame. 

I saw thy pulse's maddening j^lay 
Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by fancy's meteor ray. 

By passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from heaven. 

I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains — 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends. 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains. 

Become tliy friends. 

Thou canst not learn, nor can I show. 
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow ; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

With Shenstone's art ; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

Yet all beneath th' unrivalled rose 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

Though large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows 

Adown the glade. 

Then never murmur nor repine ; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
And trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

Nor kings' regard. 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

A rustic bard. 



GoU 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND KEFLECTION. 



■^0 give my counsels all in one — 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
Preserve the dignity of man, 

With soul erect ; 
And trust the universal plan 

Will all protect. 

And wear thou this ! — she solemn said, 
And bound the holly round my head ; 
The polished leaves and berries red 

Did rustling play — 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 

EOBEET BUENS. 



ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. 

Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 

Tliy sheltered valleys proudly spread — 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
But, all ! what poet now shall tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead. 

That ever breathed the soothing strain ? 

As green thy towering pines may grow. 

As clear thy streams may speed along, 
As bright thy summer suns may glow, 

As gayly charm thy feathery throng ; 
But now unheeded is the song, 

And dull and lifeless all around — 
For his wild harp lies all imstrung. 

And cold the hand that Avaked its sound. 

What though thy vigorous oftspring rise — 

In arts, in arms, thy sons excel ; 
Though beauty in thy daughters' eyes. 

And health in every feature dwell ; 
Yet who shall now their praises tell 

In strains impassioned, fond, and free. 
Since he no more the song shall swell 

To love, and liberty, and thee ! 

With step-dame eye and frown severe . 

His hapless youth why didst thou view ? 
For all thy joys to him were dear. 

And all liis vows to thee were due ; 



Nor greater bliss his bosom knew. 
In opening youth's delightful prime, . 

Than when thy favoring ear he drew 
To listen to his chanted rhyme. 

Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies 

To him were all with rapture fraught ; 
lie heard with joy the tem^jest rise 

That waked him to sublimer thought ; 
And oft thy winding dells he sought. 

Where wild flovi^ers poured their rathe per- 
fume. 
And with sincere devotion brought 

To thee the summer's earliest bloom. 

But ah ! no fond maternal smile 

His unprotected youth enjoyed — 
His limbs inured to early toU, 

His days with early hardships tried ! 
And more to mark the gloomy void, 

And bid him feel his misery. 
Before his infant eyes would glide 

Day-dreams of immortality. 

Yet, not by cold neglect depressed. 

With sinewy arm he turned the soil, . 
Sunk with the evening sun to rest, 

And met at morn his earliest smile. 
Waked by his rustic pipe meanwhile. 

The powers of fancy came along. 
And soothed his lengthened hours of toil 

With native wit and sprightly song. 

Ah ! days of bliss too swiftly fled, 

When vigorous health from labor springs, 
And bland contentment soothes the bed. 

And sleep his ready opiate brings ; 
And hovering round on airy wings 

Float the light forms of young desire. 
That of unutterable things 

The soft and shadowy hope inspire. 

Now spells of mightier power prepare — 

Bid brighter phantoms round him dance ; 
Let flattery spread her viewless snare. 

And fame attract his vagrant glance ; 
Let sprightly pleasure too advance. 

Unveiled her eyes, unclasped her zone — 
Till, lost in love's delirious trance. 

He scorn the joys his youth has known. 



AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS. 



651 



Let fl•iend^lnl) pour her brightest blaze, 

Expauding all the bloom of soul ; 
Aud mirth concentre all her rays, 

And point them from the sparkling bowl ; 
And let the careless moments roll 

In social pleasures unconfined, 
And confidence that spurns control. 

Unlock the inmost springs of mind ! 

And lead his steps those bowers among, 

"Where elegance with splendor vies, 
Of science bids her favored throng 

To more refined sensations rise ; 
Beyond the peasant's humbler joys, 

And freed from each laborious strife. 
There let him learn the bliss to prize 

That waits the sons of polished life. 

Then, whilst his throbbing veins beat high 

With every impulse of delight. 
Dash from his hps the cup of joy, 

And shroud the scene in shades of night ; 
And let despair with wizard light 

Disclose the yawning gulf below. 
And pour incessant on his sight 

Her spectred ills and shapes of woe ; 

And show beneath a cheerless shed. 

With sorrowing heart and streaming eyes. 
In silent grief where droops her head 

The partner of his early joys; 
And let his infants' tender cries 

His fond parental succor claim, 
And bid him hear in agonies 

A husband's and a father's name. 

'T is done — the powerful charm succeeds ; 

His high reluctant spirit bends ; 
In bitterness of soul he bleeds. 

Nor longer with his fate contends. 
An idiot laugh the welkin rends 

As genius thus degraded lies ; 
Till pitying heaven the veil extends 

That shrouds the poet's ardent eyes. 

Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 
Thy sheltered valleys proudly spread. 

And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills. 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 



But never more shall poet tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign — 

Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead 
That ever breathed the soothing strain. 

William Koscoe. 



AT THE GFvxVVE OF BURNS. 

SEVEN TEAES AFTER HIS DEATH. 

I snivEE, spirit fierce and bold, 

At thought of what I now behold : 

As vapors breathed from dungeons cold 

Strike pleasure dead, 
So sadness comes froin out the mould 

Where Burns is laid. 

And have I then thy bones so near, 
And thou forbidden to appear ? 
As if it were thyself that 's here, 

I shrink with pain ; 
And both my wishes and my fear 

Alike are vain. 

Off weight,— nor press on weight I— away 
Dark thoughts !— they came, but not to stay 
With chastened feelings would I pay 

The tribute due 
To him, and aught that hides his clay 

From mortal view. 

Fresh as the flower whose modest worth 
He sang, his genius "glinted" forth — 
■ Eose like a star that, touching earth, 

(For so it seems) 
Doth glorify its humble birth 

With matchless beams. 

The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow. 
The struggling heart, where be they now ?- 
Full soon the aspirant of the plough, 

The prompt, the brave. 
Slept, with the obscurest, in the low 

And silent grave. 

I mourned with thousands — but as one 
More deeply grieved ; for he was gone 
Whose light I hailed when first it shone, 

And showed my youth 
How verse may build a princely throne 

On humble truth. 



(if>2 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Alas! wlicre'ei- the current tends 
Regret pursues and with it blends! 
Huge Criffel's hoary top ascends 

By Skiddaw seen ; 
Neighbors we were, and loving friends 

We might liave been — 

True friends, though diversely inclined; 
But heart with heart and mind with mind, 
Where the main fibres are entwined 

Through nature's skill, 
May even by contraries be joined 

More closely still. 

The tear will start, and let it flow ; 
Thou "poor inhabitant below," 
At this dread moment — even so — 

Might we together 
Have sat and talked where gowans blow, 

Or on wild heather. 

What treasures would have then been placed 
Within my reach, of knowledge graced 
By fancy, what a rich repast! 

But why go on ? — 
Oh ! spare to sweep, thou mournful blast, 

His grave grass-grown. 
There, too, a son, his joy and pride, 
(Not three weeks past the stripling died), 
Lies gathered to his father's side — 

Soul-moving sight ! 
Yet one to which is not denied 

Some sad delight. 

For he is safe, a quiet bed 

llatli early found among the dead — 

Harbored where none can be misled, 

Wronged, or distrest ; 
And surely here it may be said 

That such are blest. 

And oh ! for thee, by pitying grace 
Checked ofttimes in a devious race — 
May He who hallowcth the place 

Where man is laid. 
Receive thy spirit in the embrace 

For which it prayed ! 

Sighing, I turned away ; but ere 
Night fell I heard, or seemed to hear. 
Music that sorrow comes not near — 

A ritual hymn. 
Chanted, in love that casts out fear. 

By seraphim. 



THOUGHTS, 

SUGGESTED THE DAT FOLLOWING, 0:N' TKE BAXKS 
OF XlXn, NEAR THE POEt's RESIDENCE. 

Too frail to keep the lofty vow 
That must have followed when his brow 
Was wreathed — ''The Vision" tells us 
how — 

With holly spray, 
He faltered, drifted to and fro. 

And passed away. 

Well might such thoughts, dear sister, 

throng 
Our minds when, lingering all too long. 
Over the grave of Burns we hung 

In social grief, — 
Indulged as if it were a wrong 

To seek relief. 

But, leaving each unquiet theme 
Where gentlest judgments may misdeem. 
And prompt to welcome every gleam 

Of good and fair. 
Let us beside this limpid stream 

Breathe hopeful air. 

Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight! 
Think rather of those moments bright 
When to the consciousness of right 

His coarse was true — 
When wisdom prospered in his sight, 

And virtue grevv^ 

Yes, freely let our hearts expand, 
Freely as in youth's season bland, 
When, side by side, his book in hand, 

We wont to stray. 
Our pleasure varying at command 

Of each sweet lay. 

How oft, inspired, must he have trod 
These pathways, yon far-stretching road ! 
There lurks his home ; in that abode. 

With mirth elate, 
Or in h's nobly pensive mood, 

The rustic sate. 

Proud thoughts that image overawes; 
Before it humbly let us pause. 
And ask of nature from what cause, 

And by what rales, 
She trained her Burns to win applause 

That shames the schools. 



BURNS. 



653 



Through busiest street and loneliest glen 

Arc felt the flashes of his pen ; 

He rules 'mid winter snows, and when 

Bees fill their hives ; 
Deep in the general heart of men 

His power survives. 

What need of fields in some far clime 
"Where heroes, sages, bards sublime, 
Ai\d all that fetched the flowing rhyme 

From genuine springs. 
Shall dwell togetlier till old time 

Folds up his wings ? 

Sweet mercy ! to the gates of heaven 
This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven — 
The rueful conflict, the heart riven 

"With vain endeavor. 
And memory of earth's bitter leaven 

Effaced for ever. 

But why to him confine the prayer, 
"When kindred thoughts and yearnings bear 
On the frail heart the purest share 

"With all that live?— 
The best of what we do and are. 

Just God, forgive ! 

William Woedswokth. 



BUEN^S. 



No more these simple flowers belong 
To Scottish maid and lover— 

Sown in the common soil of song, 
They bloom tlie wide world over. 

In smiles and tears, in sun and showei's, 
The minstrel and the heather — 

The deathless singer and the flowers 
He sang of — live together. 

"Wild heather bells and Robert Burns! 

The moorland flower and peasant! 
How, at their mention, memory turns 

Her pages old and pleasant ! 

The gray sky wears again its gold 

And purple of adorning. 
And manliood's noonday shadows hold 

The dews of boyhood's morning — 

The dews that washed the dust and soil 
From off the wings of pleasure — 



The sky that flecked the ground of toil 
Y\lth golden threads of leisure. 

I call to mind the summer day— 

The early harvest mowing. 
The sky with sun and cloud at play, 

And flowers with breezes blowing. 

I hear the blackbird in the corn, 

The locust in the haying ; 
And, like the fabled hunter's horn, 

Old tunes my heart is playing. 

How oft that day, with fond delay, 

I sought the maple's shadow, 
And sang with Burns the hours away, 

Forgetful of the meadow ! 

Bees hummed, birds twittered, overhead 
I heard the squirrels leaping — • 

The good dog listened while I read. 
And wagged his tail in keeping. 

I watched him while in sportive mood 
I read " The Twa Dogs' " story. 

And half believed he understood 
The poet's allegory. 

Sweet day, sweet songs ! — The golden houn^ 
Grew brighter for that singiug. 

From brook and bird and meadow flowers 
A dearer welcome bringing. 

New light on home-seen nature beamed, 

New glory over woman ; 
And daily life and duty seemed , 

No longer poor and common. 

I woke to find the sunple truth 

Of fact and feeling better 
Than all the dreams that held my youth 

A still repining debtoi- — 

That nature gives her handmaid, art. 
The themes of sweet discoursing, 

The tender idyls of tlie heart 
In every tongue rehearsing. 

"Why dream of lands of gold and pearl, 

Of loving knight and lady, 
"When farmer boy and barefoot girl 

"Were wandering there already? 

I saw through all familiar things 
The romance underlying — 



654 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The joys and griefs that phime the wings 
Of fancy skyward flying. 

I saw the same hlithe day return, 

The same sweet fall of even, 
That rose on wooded Craigie-burn, 

And sank on crystal Devon. 

I nciatched with Scotland's heathery hills 
The sweet-brier and the clover — 

"With Ayr and Doon my native rills, 
Their wood hymns chanting over. 

O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, 

I saw the man uprising — 
No longer common or unclean, 

The child of God's baptizing. 

With clearer eyes I saw the worth 

Of life among the lowly ; 
The bible at his cotter's hearth 

Had made my ovrn more holy. 

And if at times an evil strain. 

To lawless love appealing. 
Broke in upon the sweet refrain 

Of pure and healthful feeling, 

It died upon the eye and ear, 

No inward answer gaining ; 
No heart had I to see or hear 

The discord and the staining. 

Let those who never erred forget 
His worth, in vain bewailings ; 

Sweet soul of song ! — I own my debt 
Uncancelled by his failings ! 

Lament who will the ribald line 
Which tells his lapse from duty — 

How kissed the maddening lips of wine. 
Or wanton ones of beauty — 

But think, while falls that shade between 

The erring one and heaven. 
That he who loved like Magdalen, 

Like her may be forgiven. 

Not his the song whose thunderous chime 

Eternal echoes render — 
The mournfal Tuscan's haunted rhyme. 

And Milton's starry splendor ; 

But who his human heart has laid 
To nature's bosom nearer? 



Who sweetened toil like him, or paid 
To love a tribute dearer ? 

. Through all his tuneful art how stronp 

The human feeling gushes ! 
The very moonlight of his song 
Is warm with smiles and blushes. 

Give lettered pomp to teeth of time, 
So " Bonnie Doon " but tarry ; 

Blot out the epic's stately rhyme. 
But spare his Highland Mary ! 

John Geeehleap Whittier. 



ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN^S 
HOMER. 

Muon have I travelled in the realms of gold. 
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; 
Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his de- 
mesne ; 
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and 

bold: 
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
When a new planet swims into his ken ; 
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
Looked at each other with a Avild surmise — 
Silent, upon a peak in Daricu. 

John Keats. 



UHLAND. 

It is the poet Uhland, from whose wreath- 
ings 
Of rarest harmony I here have drawn. 
To lower tones and less melodious breathings. 
Some simple strains, of j'outh and passion 
born. 

His is the poetry of sweet expression — 
Of clear, unfaltering tune, serene and 
strong — 
Where gentlest thoughts and worde, in soft 
procession. 
Move to the even measures of his song. 



UHLAND. 



656 



Delighting ever in liis own calm fancic?, 
lie sees much heantj where most men see 
naught — 
Looking at nature with familiar glances, 
And weaving garlands in the groves of 
thought. 

lie sings of youth, and hope, and high en- 
deavor ; 

He sings of love — oh crown of poesy ! — 
Of fate, and sorrow, and the grave — forever 

The end of strife, the goal of destiny. 

lie sings of fotherland, the minstrel's glory- 
High theme of memory and hope divine — 

Twining its fame with gems of antique story, 
In Suabian songs and legends of the Rhine ; 

In ballads breathing many a dim tradition, 

Nourished in long belief or minstrel rhymes. 
Fruit of the old romance, whose gentle mis- 
sion 
Passed from the earth before our wiser 
times. 

Well do they know his name among the 
mountains. 
And plains and valleys, of his native land ; 
Part of their nature are the sparMing foun- 
tains 
Of his clear thought, with rainbow fancies 
spanned. 

His simple lays oft sings the mother, cheerful. 
Beside the cradle in the dim twilight; 

His plaintive notes low breathes the maiden, 
tearful, 
With tender murmurs in the ear of night. 

The hillside swain, the reaper in the mead- 
ows,_ 

Carol his ditties through the toilsome day ; 
And the lone hunter in the Alpine shadows 

Recalls his ballads by some ruin gray. 

Oh precious gift ! oh wondrous inspiration ! 

Of all high deeds, of all harmonious things, 
To be the oracle, while a whole nation 

Catches the eclio from the sounding strings ! 

Out of the depths of feeling and emotion 
Rises the orb of song, serenely bright — 



As who beholds, across the tracts of ocean, 
The golden sunrise bursting into hght. 

Wide is its magic world — divided neither 

By continent, nor sea, nor narrow zone : 
Who would not wish sometimes to travel 
thither. 
In fancied fortunes to forget his own ? 

William Allen Butleb. 



THE GRAVE OF A POETESS. 

Let her be laid within a silent dell. 

Where hanging trees throw round a twihght 

gleam — 
Just within hearing of some village-bell. 
And by the margin of a low-voiced stream ; 
For these were sights and sounds she once 

loved well. 

Then o'er her grave the star-paved sky will 
beam; 

Wbile all around the fragrant wild-flowers 
blow, 

And sweet birds sing her requiem to the wa- 
ter's flow. 

Thomas Millek. 



SONNET. 

The nightingale? is mute — and so art thou, 
Whose voice is sweeter than the nightin- 

While every idle scholar makes a vow 
Above thy worth and glory to prevail. 

Yet shall not envy to that level bring 

The true precedence which is born in thee ; 

Thou art no less the prophet of the spring, 
Though in the woods thy voice now silent 
be. 

For silence may impah but cannot kill 
The music that is native to thy soul ; 

Nor thy sweet mind, in this thy froward will, 
Upon thy purest honor have control ; 

But, since thou wilt not to our wishes sing, 

This truth I speak — thou art of poets king. 

LOKD TnxjKLO-w. 



656 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



CHARADE. 

OojiE from my first, aj, come ! 

The battle dawn is nigh ; 
And the screaming trump and the thundering 
drum. 

Are calling thee to die ! 

Fight as thy father fought; 

Fall as thy father fell ; 
Thy task is taught ; thy shroud is wrought ; 

So forward and farewell ! 

Toll ye my second ! toll ! 

Fling higli the flambeau's light : 
And sing the hymn for a parted soul 

Beneath the silent night ! 

The wreath upon his head, 

The cross upon his breast, 
Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed. 

So, — take him to his rest ! 

Call ye my whole, ay, call 

The lord of lute and lay; 
And let him greet the sable pall 

Y\'it]i a noble soug to-day ; 

Go, call him by his name! 

No fitter hand may crave 
To light the flame of a soldier's fame 

On the turf of a soldier's grave. 

WlNTHKOP MaCKWORIH PeAED. 



TO MACAULAY. 

The dreamy i-hymer's measured snore 

Falls heavy on onr ears no more ; 

And by long strides are left behind 

The dear delights of womankind, 

Who wage their battles like their loves. 

In satin waistcoats and kid gloves, 

And have achieved the crowning work 

When they have trussed and skewered a Turk. 

Another comes with stouter tread. 

And stalks among the statelier dead : 

He rushes on, and hails by turns 

High-crested Scott, broad-breasted Burns ; 



And shows the British youth, who ne'er 
Will lag behind, what Romans were, 
When all the Tuscans and their Lars 
Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars. 

Walter Savage Landor 



ODE. 



Bards of passion and of mirth, 
Ye have left youi- souls on earth ! 
Have ye souls in heaven too. 
Double-lived in regions new ? 
Yes, and those of heaven commune 
With the spheres of sun and moon ; 
With the noise of fountains wondrous, 
And the parle of voices thund'rous ; 
With the Avhisper of heaven's trees 
And one another, in soft ease 
Seated on Elysian lawns 
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns ; 
Underneath large blue-bells tented. 
Where the daisies are rose-scented, 
And the rose herself has got 
Perfume which on earth is not; 
Where tlie nightingale doth sing 
Not a senseless, tranced thing, 
But divine, melodious truth — 
Philosopliic numbers smooth — 
Tales and golden histories 
Of heaven and its mysteries. 

Thus ye live on high, and then 
On the earth ye live again ; 
And the souls ye left behind you 
Teach us here the Avay to find you. 
Where your other souls are joying, 
Never slumbered, never cloying. 
Here your eai'th-born souls still speak 
To mortals, of their little week ; 
Of their sorrows and delights; 
Of their passions and their spites ; 
Of their glory and their shame ; 
What dotli strengthen and what main 
Thus ye teach us, every day. 
Wisdom, though fled far away. 

Bards of passion and of mirth. 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Ye have souls in heaven too. 
Double-lived in regions new ! 

John Kfats 



A POET'S THOUGHT. 



657 



THE MINSTEEL. 

" What voice, -wliat harp, are those we hear 

Beyond the gate in chorus ? 
Go, page 1 — the lay delights our ear ; 

We '11 have it sung before us ! " 
So speaks the king : the stripling flies — 
He soon returns ; his master cries — 

" Bring in the hoary minstrel I " 

"Hail, princes mine! Hail, noble knights! 

All hail, enchanting dames! 
"What starry heaven ! "What blinding lights ! 

"Whose tongue may tell their names? 
In this bright hall, amid this blaze, 
Close, close, mine eyes ! Ye may not gaze 

On such stupendous glories ! " 

The minnesinger closed his eyes ; 

He struck his mighty lyre : 
Then beauteous bosoms heaved with sighs, 

And warriors felt on fire ; 
The king, enraptured by the strain, 
Commanded that a golden chain 

Be given the bard in guerdon. 

"Not so! Reserve thy chain, thy gold, 
For those brave knights whose glances. 

Fierce flashing through the battle bold, 
Might shiver sharpest lances ! 

Bestow it on thy treasurer there — 

The golden burden let him bear 
"With other glittering burdens. 

" I sing as in the greenwood bush 

The cageless wild-bird carols — 
The tones that from the full heart gush 

Themselves are gold and laurels ! 
Yet might I ask, then thus I ask — 
Let one bright cup of wine, in flask 

Of glowing gold, be brouglit me ! " 

They set it down ; he quaffs it all — 

" Oh ! drauglit of richest flavor I 
Oh ! thrice divinely happy hall 

Where that is scarce a favor! 
if heaven shall bless ye, think on me ; 
A.nd thank your God as I thank ye 

For this delicious wine-cup ! " 

JoHANN Wolfgang von Goethe (German). 

Translation of James Clarence Mangan. 

87 



SONNET. 

Wno beat can paint th' enamelled robe of 

spring. 

With flow'rets and fair blossoms well be- 

dight ; 

Who best can her melodious accents sing, 

With which she greets the soft return of 

light ; 

Who best can bid the quaking tempest rage. 

And make th' imperial arch of heav'n to 

groan — 

Breed warfare with the winds, and finely 

wage 

Great strife with Neptune on his rocky 

throne — 

Or lose us in those sad and mournful days 

With which pale autumn crowns the misty 

year. 

Shall bear the prize, and in his true essays 

A poet in our awful eyes appear; 

For whom let wine his mortal woes beguile, 

Gold, praise, and woman's thrice-endearing 

smile. 

Lord Thurlow. 



A POET'S THOUGHT. 

Tell me, what is a poet's thought? 

Is it on the sudden born ? 
Is it from the stai'ligbt caught ? 
Is it by the tempest taught ? 

Or by whispering morn ? 

Was it cradled in the brain ^ 

Chained awhile, or nursed in night? 
Was it wrought with toil and pain ? 
Did it bloom and fade again, 

Ere it burst to light? 

No more question of its birth : 
Rather love its better part ! 
'T is a thing of sky and earth, 
Gathering all its golden worth 
From the poet's heart. 

Baeet Coknwalu 



658 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



RESOLUTIOJT AND INDEPENDENCE. 



There was a roaring in the wind all niglit — 

The rain came heavily and fell in floods ; 

But now the sun is rising calm and hright — 

The birds are singing in the distant woods ; 

Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove 
broods ; 

The jay makes answer as the magpie chat- 
ters ; 

And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of 
waters. 



All thing; that love the sun are out of doors ; 
Tlie sky rejoices in the morning's birth; 
The grass is bright with rain-drops ; on the 

moors 
The hare is running races in her mirth ; 
And with her feet she fi'om the plashy earth 
Raises a mist that, glittering in the sun, 
Runs with her all the way, wherever she 

doth run. 



I was a traveller then upon the moor ; 
I saw the hare that raced about with joy ; 
I heard the woods and distant waters roar— 
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy. 
The pleasant season did my heart employ ; 
My old remembrances went from me wholly — 
And all the ways of men, so vain and melan- 
choly. 



But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the 

might 
Of joy in minds that can no further go, 
As high as we have mounted in delight 
In our dejection do we sink as low — 
To me that morning did it happen so ; 
And fears and fancies thick upon me came — 
Dim sadness, and blind thoughts, I knew not, 
nor could name. 



I heard the skylark warbling in the sky ; 
And I bethought me of the playful hare : 



Even such a happy child of earth am I ; 
Even as these blissful creatures do I fare ; 
Far from the world I walk, and from all care. 
But there may come another day to me — 
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. 



My whole life I have lived in pleasant 

thought. 
As if life's business were a summer mood — 
As if all needful things would come unsought 
To genial faith, still rich in genial good ; 
But how can he expect that others should 
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call 
Love him, who for himself will take no heed 
at all? 



I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, 
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride ; 
Of him who walked in glory and in joy. 
Following his plough, along the mountain 

side. 
By our own spirits we are deified ; 
We poets in our youth begin in gladness, 
But thereof come in the end despondency 

and madness. 



Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, 
A leading from above, a something given. 
Yet it befell that, in this lonely place, 
When I with these untoward thoughts had 

striven, 
Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven 
I saw a man before me unawares — 
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore 

gray hairs. 



As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie 
Couched on the bald top of an eminence, 
Wonder to all who do the same espy 
By what means it could hither come, and 

whence ; 
So that it seems a thing endued with sense — 
Like a sea-beast crawled foi'th, tha-t on a shelf 
Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun it- 
self— 



RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE. 



659 



Such seemed this man, not all alive nor dead, 
Nor all asleep, in his extreme old age. 
Ilis body was bent double, feet and head 
Coming together in life's pilgrimage. 
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage 
Of sickness, felt by liim in times long past, 
A more than human weight upon his frame 
had cast. 



Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face. 
Upon a long gray staff of shaven wood ; 
And still, as I drew near with gentle pace, 
Upon the margin of that moorish flood 
Motionless as a cloud the old man stood, 
Tliat heareth not the loud winds when they 

call, 
And moveth all together, if it move at all. 



At length, himself unsettling, he the pond 
Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look 
Upon that muddy water, which he conned 
As if he had been reading in a book. 
And now a stranger's privilege I took ; 
And, drawing to his side, to him did say 
" This morning gives us promise of a glorious 
day." 



A gentle answer did the old man make, 

In courteous speech which forth he slowly 

drew ; 
And him with further words I thus bespake : 
" AVhat occupation do you there pursue ? 
This is a lonesome place for one like you." 
Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise 
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet vivid 

eyes. 



His words came feebly, from a feeble chest ; 
But each in solemn order followed each, 
"With something of a lofty utterance drest, — 
Choice word and measured phrase, above the 

reach 
Of ordinary men, a stately speech. 
Such as grave livers do in Scotland use — 
Religious men, who give to God and man 

their dues. 



He told that to these waters he had come 

To gather leeches, being old and poor — 

Employment hazardous and wearisome! 

And he had many hardships to endure ; 

From pond to pond he roamed, from niooi- 
to moor — 

Housing, with God's good help, by choice or 
chance; 

And in this way he gained an honest mainte- 
nance. 



The old man still stood talking by my side ; 
But now his voice to me was like a stream 
Scarce heard, nor word from word could ] 

divide ; 
And the whole body of the man did seem 
Like one whom I had met with in a dream — • 
Or like a man from some far region sent 
To give me human strength by apt admojiisli- 

ment. 



My former thoughts returned : the fear that 

kills, 
And hope that is unwilling to be fed ; 
Cold, pain, and labor, and all fleshly ills ; 
And mighty poets in their misery dead. 
— Perplexed, and longing to be comforted. 
My question eagerly did I renew — 
"How is it that you live, and what is it yov; 

do?" 



He with a smile did then his words repeat ; 
And said that, gathering leeches, far and 

Avide 
He travelled, stirring thus about his feet 
The waters of the pools where they abide. 
" Once I could meet with them on every side, 
But they have dwindled long by slow decay : 
Yet still I persevere, and find them where I 

mav." 



"While he was talking thas, the lonely place. 
The old man's shape and speech — ail troubled 

me; 
In my mind's eye I seemed to see hinxpace 



660 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



About the weary moors continually, 
Wandering about alone and silently. 
While I these thoughts Avithin myself pursued, 
He, having made a pause, tlie same discourse 
renewed. 



And soon with this he other matter blend- 
ed— 
Cheerfully uttered, with demeanor kind. 
But stately in the main; and when he ended 
I could have laughed myself to scorn, to find 
In that decrepit man so firm a mind. 
" God," said I, " be my help and stay secure ; 
I '11 think of the leech-gatherer on the lonely 
moor! " 

William Woedsttokth. 



AN EXHOETATIOX. 

Chameleons feed on light and air — 

Poets' food is love and fame ; 
If in this wide world of care 

Poets could but find the same 
With as little toil as they, 

Would they ever change their hue 

As the light chameleons do. 
Suiting it to every ray 
Twenty times a-day ? 

Poets are on ',his cold earth 

As chameleons might be. 
Hidden from their early birth 

In a cave beneath the sea : 
Where light is, chameleons change — 

Where love is not, poets do. 

Fame is love disguised; if few 
Eind either, never think it strange 
That poets range. 

Yet dare not stain with wealth or power 

A poet's free and heavenly mind ; 
If bright chameleons should devour 

Any food but beams and wind. 
They would grow as earthly soon 

As their brother lizards are : 

Children of a sunnier star, 
Si)irits from beyond the moon, 
Oh, refuse the boon ! 

Percy Byssiie Shelles-. 



ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. 

Tnou still unravished bride of quietness ! 

Thou foster-child of silence and slow time ! 
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 
A flowery tale more sweetly than our 
rhyme ! 
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy 
shape 
Of deities or mortals, or of both. 

In Tempe or the dales of Arcady ? 
What men or gods are these ? what maid- 
ens loath ? 
AVhat mad pursuit ? What struggle to escape ? 
What pipes and timbrels? What wild 
ecstasy ? 

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, i)lay 
on — 
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, 

Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone ! 
Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not 
leave 
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; 
Bold lover, never, never, canst thou kiss, 
Though winning near the goal ; yet do not 
grieve — 
She cannot fade, though thou hast not 
thy bliss ; 
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair ! 

Ah, happy, happy boughs ! that cannot shed 
Your leaves nor ever bid the spring adieu : 
And happy melodist, unwearied, 

For ever piping songs for ever new ; 
More happy love ! more happy, happy love ! 
For ever warm and still to be enjoyed, 
For ever panting and for ever young ; 
All breathing human passion far above. 
That leaves a heart high sorrowful and 
cloyed, 
A burning forehead and a parching 
tongue. 

Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? 

To what green altar, mysterious priest, 
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skie.% 

And all her silken flanks with garlands 
drest? 



L'ALLEGEO. 



661 



What little town by river or sea shore, 
Or raountain-bnilt with peaceful citadel, 
Is emptied of its folk, this pions morn ? 
And, little town, thy streets for evermore 
"Will silent be ; and not a soul, to tell 
Why thoii art desolate, can e'er return. 

O Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede 

Of marble men and maidens overwrought, 

With forest branches and the trodden weed ! 

Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of 

thought, 

As doth eternity. Cold pastoral ! 

When old age shall this generation waste, 

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou 

say'st 

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — tliat is all 

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to 

know. 

John Keats. 



THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE. 

Martial, the things that do attain 
The happy life be these, I find — 

The riches left, not got with pain ; 
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind. 

The equal friend ; no grudge, no strife ; 

No charge of rule, nor governance ; 
Without disease, the healthful life ; 

The household of continuance ; 

The mean diet, no delicate fare ; 

True wisdom joined with simpleness ; 
The night discharged of all care. 

Where wine the wit may not oppress; 

The faithful wife, without debate ; 

Such sleeps as may beguile the night ; 
Contented with thine own estate, 

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might. 

LOED StTKEET. 



L'ALLEGEO. 

Hexce, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest rnidnigl!; 
born ! 
In Stygian cave forlorn, 

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and 
sights unholy. 
Find out some uncouth cell. 

Where brooding darkness spreads hit 
jealous wings. 
And the night-raven sings ; 

There, under ebon shades, and low- 
browed rocks. 
As ragged as thy locks, 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
But come, thou goddess fair and free. 
In heav'n y-cleped Euphrosyne, 
And, by men, heart-easing Mirth ! 
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth 
With two sister graces more. 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ; 
Or whether (as some sages sing) 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing — 
As he met her once a-Maying — 
There, on beds of violets blue 
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, 
Filled her with thee, a daughter fair. 
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest, and youthful jollity — 
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles. 
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles, 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. 
And love to live in dimple sleek — 
Sport, that wrinkled care derides. 
And laughter holding both his sides. 
Come ! and trip it, as you go, 
On the light fantastic toe; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain nymph, sweet liberty ; 
And if I give thee honor due. 
Mirth, admit me of tliy crew. 
To live with her, and live with thee, 
In uhreproved pleasures free — 
To hear the lark begin his flight. 
And singing startle the dull night 



602 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



From his watch-tow'r in the skies, 
Till the dappled dawn doth rise; 
Then to come, in spite of sorrow. 
And at my window bid good morrow, 
Tlirougli the sweet-brier, or the vine, 
Or the twisted eglantine; 
While the cock with lively din 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 
And to the stack, or the barn door. 
Stoutly struts his dames before ; 
Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
Oheerly rouse the slumbering morn. 
From the side of some hoar hill 
Through the high Avood echoing sluill; 
Sometime walking, not unseen, 
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 
Eight against the eastern gate. 
Where the great sun begins his state, 
Eobed in flames, and amber light. 
The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 
While the ploughman near at hand 
Whistles o'er the furrowed land. 
And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 
And the mower whets his scythe, 
xVnd every shepherd tells his tale 
Under the hawthorn in the dale. 



Straight mine eye hath caught new pleas- 
ures. 
Whilst the landscape round it measures 
Russet lawns, and fallows gray. 
Where the nibbling flocks do stra^^ — 
Mountains, on whose barren breast 
The laboring clouds do often rest — 
Meadows trim with daisies pied. 
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide. 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosomed high in tufted trees. 
Where perhaps some beauty lies, 
The cynosure of neigboring eyes. 
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 
From betwixt two aged oaks, 
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, 
Are at their savory dinner set 
Of herbs, and other country messes. 
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; 
And then in haste her bower she leaves, 
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 
Or, if the earlier season lead. 
To the tanned haycock in the mead. 



Sometimes with secure delight 

The upland hamlets will invite. 

When the merry bells ring round. 

And the jocund rebecks sound 

To many a youth, and many a maid, 

Dancing in the chequered shade ; 

And young and old come forth to play 

On a sunshine holiday. 

Till the live-long daylight fail ; 

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale 

With stories told of many a feat : 

How fairy Mab the junkets eat — 

She was pinched and pulled, she said, 

And he by friar's lantern led ; 

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 

To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn. 

His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn 

That ten day-laborers could not end ; 

Then lies him down the lubber fiend. 

And stretched out all the chimney's length, 

Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 

And, crop-full, out of doors he fiings 

Ere the first cock his matin rings. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 

Towered cities please us then. 
And the busy hum of men. 
Where throngs of knights and barons bold 
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold — 
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, Vv'hile both contend 
To win her grace whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear 
In saff"ron robe, with taper clear. 
And pomp and feast and revelry, 
With mask, and antique pageantry — 
Such sights as youthful poets dream 
On summer eves by haunted stream; 
Then to the well-trod stage anon. 
If Jonson's learned sock be on. 
Or sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child, 
Warble his native wood-notes wild. 

And ever, against eating cares, 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 
Married to immortal verse, 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce, 



IL PENSEROSO. 



663 



In notes with many a winding bout 

Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 

With wanton heed and giddy cunning 

The melting voice through mazes running, 

Untwisting all the chains that tie 

The hidden soul of harmony — 

That Orpheus' self may heave his head 

From golden slumber on a bed 

Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 

Such strains as would have won the ear 

Of Pluto, to have quite set free 

His half regained Eurydice. 

These delights if thou canst give. 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 



IL PE¥SEROSO. 

Hexce, vain deluding joys. 

The brood of folly without father bred ! 
Uow little you bestead, 

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! 
Dwell in some idle brain, 

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes pos- 
sess. 
As thick and numberless 
. As the gay motes that people the sun- 
beams — 
Or likest hovering dreams, 

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. 
But hail, thou goddess, sage and holy ! 
Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
AVhose saintly visage ^g too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight, 
And therefore to our weaker view 
O'erlaid with black, staid wisdom's hue- 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove 
To set her beauty's praise above 
The sea-nymphs, and their powers oftended 
Yet thou art higher far descended ; 
Thee bright-haired Vesta, long of yore, 
To solitary Saturn bore — 
His daughter she (in Saturn's reign 
Such mixture was not held a stain). 
Oft in glinnnering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,; 
While yet there was no fear of Jove. 



Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
All in a robe of darkest grain 
Flowing with majestic train. 
And sable stole of cypress lawn 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn ! 
Come ! but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step and musing gait. 
And looks commercing with the skies, 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes ; 
There, held in holy passion still. 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad, leaden, downward cast 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast; 
And join with thee calm peace, and quiet- 
Spare fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 
And hears the nuises in a ring 
Aye round about Jove's altar sing ; 
And add to these retired leisure. 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ; 
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring 
Him that yon soars on golden wing. 
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne — 
The cherub contemplation ; 
And the mute silence hist along, 
'Less Philomel will deign a song 
In her sweetest, saddest plight. 
Smoothing the rugged brow of night, 
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 
Gently o'er the accustomed oak. 
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of fol- 
ly- 
Most musical, most melancholy ! 
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among 
I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 
And, missing thee, I walk unseen 
On the dry, smooth-shaven green. 
To behold the wandering moon 
Pviding near her highest noon, 
Like one that had been led astray 
Through the heav'n's wide pathless way ; 
And oft, as if her head she bowed, 
Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 
Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 
I hear the for-off curfew sound 
Over some wide-watered shore, 
Swinging slow with sullen roar ; 
Or if the air wall not permit. 
Some still removed place wdll fit, 
Where glowing embers through the room 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom — 



664 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Far from all resort of mirth, 
Save the cricket on the liearth, 
Or the bellman's drowsy charm, 
.^ To bless the doors from nightly harm ; 
Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
Be seen in some high lonely tower, 
Where I may oft out-watch the bear 
With thrice-great Hermes, or nnsphere 
The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
What worlds or what vast regions hold 
The immortal mind that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook ; 
And of Ihose demons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or under ground. 
Whose power hath a true consent 
With planet or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous tragedy 
In sceptred pall come sweeping by, 
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line. 
Or the tale of Troy divine. 
Or what (though rare) of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 

But, oil, sad virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Musfeus from his bower ! 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, 
And made hell grant what love did seek ! 
Or call up him that left half- told 
The story of Cambuscan bold — 
Of Camball, and of Algarsife — 
And who had Canace to wife, 
That owned the virtuous ring and glass — 
And of the wondrous horse of brass. 
On which the Tartar king did ride ! 
And, if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung — 
Of tourneys and of trophies hung, 
Of forests, and enchantments drear, 
Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, night, oft see me in thy pale 
career. 
Till civil-suited morn appear — 
Not tricked and flounced, as she was wont 
With the Attic boy to hunt. 
But kerchiefed in a comely cloud 
While rocking winds are piping loud, 
Or ushered with a shower still 
When the gust hath blown his fill, 



Ending on the rustling leaves, 

With minute drops from off" the eaves. 

And when the sun begins to fling 

His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring 

To arched walks of twilight groves. 

And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves. 

Of pine or monumental oak. 

Where the rude axe with heaved stroke 

Was never heard the nymphs to daunt. 

Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 

There in close covert by some brook, 

Where no profaner eye may look, 

Hide me from day's garish eye, 

While the bee with honied thigh. 

That at her flowery work doth sing. 

And the waters murmuring 

With such consort as they keep. 

Entice the dewy-feathered sleep ; 

And let some strange mysterious dream 

Wave at his wings, in airy stream 

Of lively portraiture displayed, 

Softly on my eyelids laid ; 

And, as I -wake, sweet music breathe 

Above, about, or underneath, 

Sent by some spirit to mortals good, 

Or th' unseen genius of the wood. 

But let my due feet never fixil 
To walk the studious cloisters pale, 
And love the liigh embowed roof, 
With antic pillars massy proof. 
And storied windows, richly dight, 
Casting a dim religious light. 
There let the pealing organ blow 
To the full-voiced quire below, 
In service high, and anthems clear, 
As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 
Dissolve me into ecstasies, 
And bring all heaven before mine eyes. 

And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage. 
The hairy gown and mossy cell. 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 
Of every star that heav'n doth show. 
And every herb that sips the dew, 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 

Tliese pleasures, Melancholy, give. 
And I with thee will choose to live. 

John Milton. 



A CONTENTED MIND. 



6fi 



n 



SONG. 

Sweet are the thoughts that savor of con- 
tent — 
The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; 

Sweet are the nights in careless slumher 
spent — 
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry 
frown : 

Such sweet content, such' minds, such sleep, 
such bliss. 

Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss. 

The homely house that harbors quiet rest, 
The cottage that affords no pride or care, 

The mean that 'grees with country music best, 
The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare. 

Obscured life sets down a type of bliss : 

A mind content both crown and kingdom is. 

Robert Geeene. 



THE EEPLY. 



Since you desire of me to know 
Who's the wise man, V 11 tell you who : 
Not he whose rich and fertile mind 
Is by the culture of the arts refined ; 
Who has the chaos of disordered thought 
By reason's light to form and method 

brought ; 
Who with a clear and piercing sight 
Can see through niceties as dark as night— 
You err if you think this is he, 
Though seated on the top' of the Porphyrian 

tree. 

II. 

For is it he to whom kind heaven 

A secret cabala has given 

T' unriddle the mysterious text 

Of nature, with dark comments more per- 
plext — 

Or to decipher her clean-writ and fair. 
But most confounding, puzzling character- 
That can through all her windings trace 
Tliis slippery wanderer, and unveil her face, 
88 



Her inmost mechanism view. 
Anatomize each part, and see her through 
and through. 

III. 

ISTor he that does the science know 
Our only certainty below — 
That can from problems dark and nice 
Deduce truths worthy of a sacrifice. 
Nor he that can confess the stars, and see 
What's writ in the black leaves of destiny— 
That knows their laws, and how the sun 
His daily and his annual stage does run, 
As if he did to them dispense 
Their motions and their fate— supreme intel- 
ligence ! 

IV. 

Nor is it he (although he boast 
Of wisdom, and seem wise to most,) 
Yet 't is not he whose busy pate 
Can dive into the deep intrigues of state- 
That can the great leviathan control, 
Manage and rule it, as if he were its soul ; 
The wisest king thus gifted was. 
And yet did not in these true wisdom place. 
Who then is by the wise man meant ? 
He that can want all this, and yet can be 
content. 

JOHK NOKEIS. 



A CONTENTED MIND. 

I WEIGH not fortune's frown or smile ; 

I joy not much in earthly joys ; 
I seek not state, I reck not style ; 

I am not fond of fancy's toys : 
I rest so pleased with what I have 
I wish no more, no more I crave. 

I quake not at the thunder's crack ; 

I tremble not at noise of war ; 
I swound not at the news of wrack ; 

I shrink not at a blazing star ; 
I fear not loss, I hope not gain , 
I envy none, I none disdain. 

I see ambition never pleased ; 

I see some Tantals starved in store ; 
I see gold's dropsy seldom eased ; 

I see even Midas gape for more : 



666 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


I neithev want, nor yet abound — 




Enough 's a feast, content is crowned. 


THE LYE. 


I feign not friendsliip where I hate ; 


GoE, soule, the bodie's guest. 


I fawn not on the great (in show) ; 


Upon a thanklesse arran-t ; 


I iH'ize, I praise a mean estate — 


Feare not to touche the best — 


Neither too lofty nor too low : 


The truth shall be thy warrant ! 


This, this is all my choice, my cheer — 


Goe, since I needs must dye, 


A mind content, a conscience clear. 


And gire the world the lye. 


Joshua Sylvester. 






Goe tell the court it glowes 




And shines like rotten wood ; 


SONG. 


Goe tell the church it showes 


What 's good, and doth no good ; 




If church and court reply. 


What pleasure have great princes, 


Then give them both the lye. 


More dainty to their choice 


Than herdsmen wild, who, careless, 




In quiet life.rejoice. 


Tell potentates they live 


And fortune's fate not fearing. 


Acting by others actions — 


Sing sweet in summer morning. 


Not loved unlesse they give, 




Not strong but by their factions ; 


Their dealings, plain and rightful, 


If potentates reply, 


Are void of all deceit ; 


Give potentates the lye. 


They never know how spiteful 




It is to feel and wait 


Tell men of high condition, 


On favorite presumptuous, 


That rule affairs of state, 


Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. 


Their purpose is ambition, 




Their practice only hate ; 


All day their flocks each tendeth ; 


And if they once reply, 


All night they take their rest- 


Then give them all the lye. 


More quiet than who sendeth 




Ilis ship into the east, 


Tell them that brave it most 


Where gold and pearls are plenty, 


They beg for more by spending, 


But getting very dainty. 


Who in their greatest cost 




Seek nothing but commending ; 


For lawyers and their pleading, 


And if they make reply, 


They esteem it not a straw ; 


Spare not to give the lye. 


They think that honest meaning 




Is of itself a law ; 


Tell zcale it lacks devotion ; 


Where conscience judge th plainly. 


Tell love it is but lust ; 


They spend no money vainly. 


Tell time it is but motion ; 




Tell flesh it is but dust ; 


Oh happy who thus liveth, 


And wish them not reply. 


Not caring much for gold. 


For thou must give the lye. 


With clothing which sufficeth 




To keep him from the cold ; 


Tell age it daily wasteth ; 


Though poor and plain his diet, 


Tell honour how it alters ; 


Yet merry it is and quiet. 


Tell beauty how she blasteth ; 


"William Btrd. 


Tell favour how she falters ; 



TO THE LADY MARGARET. 66Y 


And as they tlien reply, 




Give each of them the lye. 


TO THE LADY MARGAEET, COUNTESS 




OF CUMBERLAND. 


Tell wit how ranch it wranj^les 


He that of such a height hath built his mind, 


In tickle points of nicenesse ; 


And reared the dwelling of his thoughts so 


Tell wisedome she entangles 


strong, 


Herselfe in over wisenesse ; 


As neither fear nor hope can shake the 


And if they do reply, 


frame 


Straight give them both the lye. 


Of his i-esolved powers ; nor all the wind 




Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong 


Tell physicke of her boldnesse ; 


His settled peace, or to disturb the same ; 


Tell skill it is pretension ; 


"What a fair seat hath he, from whence he 


Tell charity of coldnesse ; 


may 


Tell law it is contention ; 


The boundless wastes and weilds of man 


And as they yield reply. 


survey? 


So give them still the lye. 


And with how free an eye doth he look down 




Upon these lower regions of turmoil ? 


Tell fortune of her hlinduesse ; 


"Where aU the storms of passions mainly beat 


Tell natnre of decay ; 


On flesh and blood, where honor, power, 


Tell friendship of unkindnesse •; 


renown. 


Tell justice of delay ; 


Are only gay afflictions, golden toil ; 


And if they dare reply, 


"Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet 


Then give them all the lye. 


As frailty doth ; and only great doth seem 




To little minds, who do it so esteem. 


Tell arts they have no soundnesse. 


He looks upon the mightiest monarch's wars 


But vary by esteeming ; 


But only as on stately robberies ; 


Tell schooles they want profoundnesse. 


"Where evermore the fortune that prevails 


And stand too much on seeming; 


Must be the right ; the ill-succeeding Mars 


If arts and schooles reply. 


The fairest and the best faced enterprise. 


Give arts and schooles the lye. 


Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails ; 




Justice, he sees (as if seduced), still 


Tell faith it's fled the citie; 


Conspires with power, whose cause must not 


Tell how the country erreth ; 


be ill. 


Tell, manhood shakes off pitie; 


He sees the face of right to appear as mani- 


Tell, vertue least preferreth ; 


fold 
As are the passions of uncertain man ; 


And if they doe reply. 


Spare not to give the lye. 


Who puts it in all colors, all attires, 




To serve his ends, and make his courses hold. 


So, W'hen thon hast, as I 


He sees, that let deceit work what it can. 


Commanded tliee, done blabbing — 


Plot and contrive base ways to high desires ; 


Althougii to give the lye 


Tliat the all-guiding providence doth yet 


Deserves no less than stabbing— 


All disappoint, and mocks the smoke of wit. 


Yet stab at thee who will, 




No stvab the soule can kill. 


Nor is he moved with all the thunder-cracks 


Anonymous. 


Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow 




Of power, that proudly sits on others' crimes ; 




Charged with more crying sins than those he 




checks. 



668 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND KEFLECTION 



The storms of sad confusion, that may grow 
Up in the present for tlie coming times, 
Appall not him, that hath no side at all, 
But of himself, and knows the worst can fall. 

Although his heart (so near allied to earth) 
Cannot but pity the perplexed state 
Of troublous and distressed mortality, 
That thus make way unto the ugly birth 
Of their own sorrows, and do still beget 
Affliction upon imbecility ; 
Yet seeing thus the course of things must run, 
Pie looks thereon not strange, but as fore- 
done. 

And whilst distraught ambition compasses 
And is encompassed ; whilst as craft deceives. 
And is deceived; whilst man doth ransack 

man. 
And builds on blood, and rises by distress, 
And the inheritance of desolation leaves 
To great-expecting hopes ; he looks thereon. 
As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye, 
And bears no venture in impiety. 

Thus, madam, fares that man, that hath pre- 
pared 
A rest for his desires, and sees all things 
Beneath him ; and hath learned this book of 

man, 
Full of the notes of frailty; and compared 
Tlie best of glory with her sufferings ; 
By whom, I see, you labor all you can 
To plant your heart ; and set your thoughts as 

near 
His glorious mansion as j'our powers can 
bear. 

"Which, madam, are so soundly fashioned 

By that clear judgment that hath carried you 

Beyond the feebler limits of your kind, 

As they can stand against the strongest head 

Passion can make; inured to any hue 

The world can cast; that cannot cast that 

mind 
Out of her form of goodness, that doth see 
Both what the best and worst of earth can be. 

"Which makes that whatsoever here befalls. 
You in the region of yourself remain, 
"Where no vain breath of th' impudent molests. 
That hath secured within the brazen walls 



Of a clear conscience, that (v>'ithout all stain) 

Eises in peace, in innoceucy rests; 

"Whilst all what malice from without pro- 
cures. 

Shows her own ugly heart, but hurts not 
yours. 

And whereas none rejoice more in revenge, 
Than women used to do ; yet you ^vell know, 
That wrong is better checked by being con- 
temned. 
Than being pursued ; leaving to him to avenge 
To whom it appertains. "Wherein you show 
How worthily your clearness hath condemned 
Base malediction, living in the dark, 
That at the rays of goodness still doth bark. 

Knowing the heart of man is set to be 
The centre of this world, about the which 
These revolutions of disturbances 
Still roll ; where all the aspects of miserj'' 
Predominate; whose strong effects are such 
As he must bear, being powerless to redress ; 
And that unless above himself he can 
Erect himself, how poor a thing is man ! 

And how turmoiled they are that level lie 
"With earth, and cannot lift themselves from 

thence ; 
That never are at peace with their desires, 
But w'ork beyond their years ; and even deny 
Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispense 
"With death : that when ability expires, 
Desire lives still — so much delight they have 
To carry toil and travel to the grave. 

"Whose ends you see; and what can be the 

best 
They reach unto, when they have cast the 

sum 
And reckonings of their glory ? And you know, 
This floating life hath but this port of rest, 
A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come; 
And that man's greatness rests but in his 

show. 
The best of all whose days consumed are, 
Either in war, or peace conceiving war. 

This concord, madam, of a well-tuned mind, 
Hath been so set by that all-working hand 



MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 



669 



Of licaven, that though the world hath done 

his worst 
To put it out by discords most unkind, 
Yet doth it still in perfect union stand 
With God and man ; nor ever will be forced 
From that most sweet accord, but still agree, 
Equal in fortunes in equality. 

And this note, madam, of your worthiuess 
Remains recorded in so many hearts. 
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right, 
In th' inheritance of fame you must possess : 
You that have built you by your great deserts 
(Out of small means) a ftir more exquisite 
And glorious dwelling for your honored 

name 
Than all the gold that leaden minds can 

frame. 

Samuel Daniel. 



MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 

Mt minde to me a kingdom is ; 

Such perfect joy therein I finde 
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse 

That God or nature hath assignde ; 
Though much I want, that most would have. 
Yet still my minde forbids to crave. 

Content I live ; this is my stay — 
I seek no more than may suffice. 

I presse to beare no haughtie sway ; 
Look, what I lack my mind supplies. 

Loe, thus I triumph like a king, 

Content with that my mind doth bring. 

I see how plentie surfets oft. 
And hastie clymbers soonest fall ; 

I see that such as sit aloft 
Mishap doth threaten most of all. 

These got with toile, and keepe with feare ; 

Such cares my mind could never beare. 

No princely pompe nor welthie store, 

No force to win the victorie. 
No wylie wit to salve a sore. 

No shape to winne a lover's eye — 
To none of these I yeeld as thrall ; 
For why, my mind despiseth all. 



Some have too much, yet still they crave; 

I little have, yet seek no more. 
They are but poore, though much they have 

And I am rich with little store. 
They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; 
They lacke, I lend ; they pine, I live. 

I laugh not at another's losse, 
I grudge not at another's gaine ; 

No worldly wave my mind can tosse; 
I brooke that is another's bane. 

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ; 

I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. 

I joy not in no earthly blisse ; 

I weigh not Cresus' wealth a straw ; 
For care, I care not what it is ; 

I feare not fortune's fatal law; 
My mind is such as may not move 
For beautie bright, or force of love. 

I wish but -what I have at wiU; 

I wander not to seeke for more ; 
I like the plaine, I clime no hill ; 

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, 
And laugh at them that toile in vaine 
To get what must be lost againe. 

I kisse not where I wish to kill ; 

I feigne not love where most I hate ; 
I breake no sleepe to winne my will ; 

I wayte not at the mightie's gate. 
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich ; 
I feele no want, nor have too much. 

The court ne cart I like ne loath — 
Extreames are counted worst of all ; 

The golden meane betwixt them both 
Doth surest sit, and feares no fall ; 

This is my choyce ; for why, I finde 

No wealth is like a quiet minde. 

My wealth is health and perfect ease ; 

My conscience clere my chiefe defence ; 
I never seeke by bribes to please, 

Nor by desert to give offence. 
Thus do I live, thus will I die; 
"Would 'all did so as well as I ! 

William Bted. 



670 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE WIN^TER BEING OVER. 

The winter being over, 
In order comes the spring, 
Which doth green herbs discover. 
And cause the birds to sing. 
The niglit also expired. 
Then comes the morning bright, 
"Which is so much desired 
By all that love the light. 

This may learn 

Them that mourn, 
To put their grief to flight : 
The spring succeedeth winter. 
And day must follow night. 



He therefore that sustaineth 
Affliction or distress 
Which every member paineth, 
And findeth no release — 
Let such therefore despair not, 
But on firm hope depend, 
Whose griefs immortal are not. 
And therefore must have end. 

They that faint 

With complaint 
Therefore are to blame ; 
They add to their afflictions, 
And amplify the same. 

For if they could with patience 
Awhile possess the mind, 
By inward consolations 
They might refreshing find. 
To sweeten all their ci'osses 
That little time they 'dure; 
So might they gain by losses. 
And sharp would sweet procure. 

But if the mind 

Be inclined 
To unquietness, 
That only may be called 
The worst of all distress. 

He that is melancholy. 
Detesting all delight, 
His wits by sottish folly 
Are ruinated quite. 



Sad discontent and murmurs 
To him are incident ; 
Were he possessed of honors, 
lie could not be content. 

Sparks of joy 

Fly away ; 
Floods of care arise; 
And all delightful motion 
In the conception dies. 

But those tliat are contented 
However things do fall. 
Much anguish is prevented, 
And they soon freed from all. 
They finish all their labors 
With much felicity; 
Their joy in trouble savors 
Of perfect piety. 

Cheerfulness 

Doth express 
A settled pious mind. 
Which is not prone to grudging, 
From murmuring refined. 

Ann Collins. 



SONKETS. 

TRitJMPHixa chariots, statues, crowns of bays, 
Sky-threatening arches, the rewards of worth ; 
Books heavenly- wjse in sweet harmonious 

lays, 
Which men divine unto the world set forth; 
States which ambitious minds, in blood, do 

raise 
From frozen Tanais unto sun-burnt Gange ; 
Gigantic frames held wonders rarely strange. 
Like spiders' webs, are made the sport of days. 
Nothing is con-stant but in constant change. 
What 's done still is undone, and when undone 
Into some other fashion doth it range; 
Thus goes the floating world beneath the 

moon ; 
Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, 

l^lace, 
Else up, and steps miknown to nature trace. 



ODE TO BEAUTY. 



6'71 



A GOOD that never satisfies the mind, 
A beauty fading like the April showers, 
A sweet with floods of gall that runs com- 
bined, 
A pleasure- passing ere in thought made ours, 
A honor that more ficlde is than wind, 
A glory at opinion's frown that lowers, 
A treasury which bankrupt time devours, 
A knowledge than grave ignorance more 

blind, 
A vain delight our equals to command, 
A style of greatuess in effect a dream, 
A swelling thought of holding sea and land, 
A servile lot, decked with a pompous name : 
Are the strange ends we toil for here below 
Till wisest death makes us our errors know, 
"WrLLiiM Dkummond. 



A SWEET PASTOEAL. 

Good muse, rock me asleep 
"With some sweet harmony ! 
The weary eye is not to keep 
Thy wary company. 

Sweet love, begone awhile ! 
Thou know'st my heaviness ; 
Beauty is born but to beguile 
My heart of happiness. 

See how my little flock, 

That loved to feed on high, 

Do headlong tumble down the rock, 

And in the valley die. 

The bushes and the trees. 
That were so fresh and green, 
Do all their dainty color lease, 
And not a leaf is seen. 

Sweet Philomel, the bird 
That hath the heavenly throat, 
Doth now, alas ! not once afford 
Recording of a note. 

The flowers have had a frost ; 
Each herb hath lost her savor ; 
And Phillida, the fair, hath lost 
The comfort of her favor. 



Now all these careful sights 
Sq kill me in conceit, 
That how to hope upon delights 
Is but a mere deceit. 

And, therefore, my sweet muse, 
Thou know'st what help is best ; 
Do now thy heavenly cunning use 
To set my heart at rest. 

And in a dream bewray 
What fate shall be my friend — 
Whether my life shall still decay, 
Or when my sorrow end, 

Nicholas Bket<n, 



ODE TO BEAUTY. 

Who gave thee, O beauty, 
The keys of this breast, 
Too credulous lover 
Of blest and unblest ? 
Say, when in lapsed ages 
Thee knew I of old ? 
Or what was the service 
For which I was sold? 
When first my eyes saw thee 
I found me thy thrall, 
By magical drawings, 
Sweet tyrant of all ! 
I drank at thy fountain 
False waters of thirst ; 
Thou intimate stranger, 
Thou latest and first! 
Thy dangerous glances 
Make women of men; 
New-born, we are melting 
Into nature again. 

Lavish, lavish promiser, 
Figh persuading gods to err ! 
Guest of miUion painted forms. 
Which in turn thy glory warms ! 
The frailest leaf, the mossy bark. 
The acorn's cup, the rain drop's arc, 
The swinging spider's silver line, 
The ruby of the drop of wine. 
The shining pebble of the pond. 
Thou inscribest with a bond, 



1 

6Y2 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. | 


In thy momentary play, 


Wilt not give the lips to taste 


Would bankrupt nature to repay. 


Of the nectar which thou hast. | 


Ah, what avails it 




To hide or to shun 


All that 's good and great with thee 


Whom the Infinite One 


Works in close conspiracy ; 


Hath granted His throne ! 


Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely 


The heaven high over 


To report thy features only. 


Is the deep's lover ; 


And the cold and purple morning. 


Tlie sun and sea, 


Itself with thoughts of thee adorning ; 


Informed by thee, 


The leafy dell, the city mart, 


Before me run, 


Equal trophies of thine art ; 


And draw me on, 


E'en the flowing azure air 


Yet fly me still. 


Thou hast touched for my despair ; 


As fate refuses 


And, if I languish into dreams, 


To me the heart fate for me chooses. 


Again I meet the ardent beams. 


Is it that my opulent soul 


Queen of things! I dare not die 


Was mingled from the generous whole ; 


In being's deeps past ear and eye ; 


Sea-valleys and the deep of skies 


Lest there I find the same deceiver, 


Furnished several supplies; 


And be the sport of fate forever. 


And the sands whereof I 'm made 


Dread power, but dear ! if God thou be. 


Draw me to them, self-betrayed ? 


Unmake me qnite, or give thyself to me ! 


I turn the proud portfolios 


IUlph Waldo Emeksok. 


Which hold the grand designs 
Of Salvator, of Guercino, 






And Piranesi's lines. 


SONG. 


I hear the lofty pseans 




Of the masters of the shell, 


Earely, rarely comest thou, 


Who heard the starry music 


Spirit of delight ! 


And recount the numbers well ; 


Wherefore hast thou left me now 


Olympian bards who sung 


Many a day and night ? 


Divine ideas below, 


Many a weary night and day 


Which always find us young. 


'Tis since thou art fled away. 


And always keep us so. 




Oft, in streets or humblest places, 


How shall ever one like me 


I detect far- wandered graces, 


Win thee back again ? 


Which, from Eden wide astray. 


With the joyous and tlie free 


In lowly homes have lost their way. 


Tliou wilt scofi" at pain. 




Spirit false,! thou hast forgot 




All but those who heed thee not. 


Tliee gliding through the sea of form, 




Like the lightning through the storm. 


As a lizard with the shade 


Somewhat not to be possessed. 


Of a trembhng leaf, 


Somewhat not to be caressed. 


Thou witli sorrow art dismayed ; 


No feet so fleet could ever find, 


Even the signs of grief 


No perfect form could ever bind. 


Reproach thee, that tliou art near, 


Thou eternal fugitive. 


And reproach thou wilt not hear. 


Hovering over all that live. 




Quick and skilful to inspire 


Let me set my mournful ditty 


Sweet, extravagant desire. 


To a merry measure : 


Starry space and lily-bell 


Tliou wilt never come for pity 


Filling with thy roseate smell. 


Thou wilt come for pleasure. 



HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. 



673 



Pity tlien will cut away 
Those cruel wings, and tliou wilt stay. 

I love all that thou lovest, 

Spirit of delight ! 
The fresh earth in new leaves drcst, 

And the starry night ; 
Autumn evening, and the moru 
When the golden mists are born. 

I love snow, and all the forms 

Of the radiant frost ; 
I love waves and winds and streams, 

Everything almost 
"Which is nature's, and may be 
Untainted by man's misery. 

I love tranquil solitude. 

And such society 
As is quiet, wise, and good ; 

Between thee and me 
What difference? but thou dost possess 
The things I seek, not love them less. 

I love love, though he has wings, 

And like light can flee. 
But, above all other things, 

Spirit, I love thee : 
Thou art love and life ! oh come, 
Make once more my heart thy home ! 

Percy Btsshe Shelley. 



HYMN" TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. 

The awful shadow of some unseen power 
Floats, though unseen, among us — visiting 
This various world with as inconstant wing 
As summer winds that creep from flower to 

flower ; 
Like moonbeams, that behind some piny 
mountain shower, 
It visits witb inconstant glance 
Eacli numan heart and countenance, 
Like hues and harmonies of evening. 

Like clouds in starlight widely spread. 
Like memory of music fled. 
Like aught that for its grace may be 
Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery. 
89 



Spirit of beauty, that dost consecrate 

With thine own hues all thou dost shine 

uj^on 
Of human thought or form, where art thou 
gone? 
Why dost thou pass away and leave our state. 
This dim, vast vale of tears, vacant and deso- 
late? 
Ask why the sunlight not for ever 
Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain 
river ; 
AVhy aught should fail and fade that once is 
shown ; 
Why fear, and dream, and death, and 

birth 
Cast on the daylight of this earth 
Such gloom ; why man has such a scope 
For love and hate, despondency and hope. 

No voice from some sublimer world hath ever 
To sage or poet these responses given; 
Therefore the names of demon, ghost, and 
heaven, 
Remain the records of their vain endeavor — 
Frail spells, whose uttered charm might not 
avail to sever 
From all we hear and all we see 
Doubt, chance, and mutability. 
Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountains 
driven, 
Or music by the night wind sent 
Through strings of some still instrument 
Or moonlight on a midnight stream. 
Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream. 

Love, hope, and self-esteem, like clouds de- 
part 
And come, for some uncertain moments 

lent. 
Man were immortal and omnipotent 
Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art. 
Keep wuth thy glorious train firm state with- 
in his heart. 
Tliou messenger of sympathies 
That wax and wane in lover's eyes! 
Tliou that to human thought art nourishment, 
Like darkness to a dying flame ! 
Depart not as thy shadow came! 
Depart not, lest the grave should be, 
Like life and fear, a dark reality. 



6T4 FOEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


Wliile yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped 




Through many a listening chamber, cave 


SWEET IS THE PLEASITKE. 


and ruin, 




And starliglit wood, with fearful steps pur- 


Sweet is the pleasure 




Itself cannot spoil ! 


Hopes of high talk with the departed dead. 


Is not true leisure 
One with true toil ? 


I called on poisonous names with which our 




youth is fed ; 


Thou that wouldst taste it. 


I was not heard ; I saw them not. 


Still do thy best ; 


"When musing deeply on the lot 


Use it, not waste it — 


Of life, at that sweet time when winds are 


Else 't is no rest. 


Avooing 




All vital things that wake to bring 


"Wouldst behold beauty 


News of birds and blossoming; 


Near thee ? all round ? 


Sudden thy shadow fell on me — 


Only hath duty 


I shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy ! 


Such a sight found. 




Rest is not quitting 


I vowed that I would dedicate my powers 


The busy career ; 


To thee and thine; have I not kept the 


Eest is the fitting 


vow ? 


Of self to its sphere. 


"Witli beating heart and streaming eyes. 




even now 


'Tis the brook's motion, 


I call the phantoms of a thousand liours 


Clear without strife. 


Each from his voiceless grave. They have in 


Fleeing to ocean 


visioned bowers 


After its life. 


Of studious zeal or love's delight 




Outwatched with me the envious night; 


Deeper devotion 


They know that never joy illumed my brow 


Nowhere hath knelt ; 


Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst 


Fuller emotion 


free 


Heart never felt. 


This world from its dark slavery — 




That thou, awful loveliness. 


'Tis loving and serving 


"Woiddst give whate'cr these words cannot 


The highest and best ; 


express. 


'T is onwards ! unswerving — 


And that is true rest. 




John Sullivan Dwight, 


The day becomes more solemn and serene 




"When noon is past ; there is a harmony 
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky. 






>Vhicli through the summer is not heard nor 


STANZAS. 


seen. 




As if it could not be, as if it had not been ! 


TnouGHT is deeper than all speech, 


Thus let thy power, which like the truth 


Feeling deeper than all thought; 


Of nature on my passive youth 


Souls to souls can never teach 


Descended, to my onward life supply 


"What unto themselves was taught. 


Its calm — to one who worsliips thee. 




And every form containing thee — 


"We are spirits clad in veils ; 


"Whom, spirit fair, thy spells did bind 


Man by man was never seen ; 


To fear himself, and love all human kind. 


All our deep communing fails 


Percy Btsshe Siiellev. 


To remove the shadowy screen. 



THE FOUNTAIN. 



675 



Heart to heart was never known ; 
Mind with mind did never meet ; 
We are columns left alone 
Of a temple once complete. 

Like the stars that gem the sky, 
Far apart though seeming near, 
In our light we scattered he ; 
All is tluis but starlight here. 

"What is social company 
But a babbling summer stream ? 
"What our wise philosophy 
But the glancing of a dream? 

Only when the sun of love 

Melts the scattered stai-s of tliought, 

Only when we live above 

"What the dim-eyed world hath taught. 

Only when our souls are fed 

By the fount which gave them birth, 

And by inspiration led 

"Which they never drew from earth, 

"We, like parted drops of rain. 
Swelling till they meet and run, 
Shall be all absorbed again. 
Melting, flowing into one. 

Cheistophee Peakse CuANcn. 



THE TABLES TURNED. 

Up ! up, my frrend ! and quit your books. 
Or surely you '11 grow double ; 

Up ! up, my friend! and clear your looks; 
"Why all this toil and trouble ? 

The sun, above the mountain's head, 

A freshening lustre mellow 
Through all the long green fields has spread, 

His first sweet evening yellow. 

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife; 

Come, hear the woodland linnet — 
How sweet his music ! on ray life, 

There 's more of wisdom in it! 

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! 
He, too, is no mean preacher ; 

Come forth into the light of things- 
Let nature be your teacher. 



She has a world of ready wealth, 
Our minds and hearts to bless, — 

Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 
Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 

One impulse from a vernal wood 

May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 

Than all the sages can. 

Sweet is the lore which nature brings ; 

Our meddling intellect 
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things— 

"We murder to dissect. 

Enough of science and or art ; 

Close up those barren leaves ; 
Come forth, and bring with you a heart 

That watches and receives. 

William ■Woedswoeth. 



THE FOUNTAIN. 

A CONVERSATION. 

"\Ye talked with open heart, and tongue 

Affectionate and true — 
A pair of friends, though I was young 

And Matthew seventy-two. 

"We lay beneath a spreading oak, 

Beside a mossy seat; 
And from the turf a fountain broke, 

And gurgled at our feet. 

"Now, Matthew! " said I, " let us match 

This water's pleasant tune 
"With some old border-song or catch, 

That suits a summer's noon ; 

" Or of the church clock and the cliimes 
Sing here, beneath the shade, . 

That half-mad thing of witty rhjnnes 
Which you last April made ! " 

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 
The spring beneath the tree ; 

And thus the dear old man replied, 
The graj'-haired man of glee : 

" No cheek, no stay, this streamlet fears ; 

How merrily it goes ! 
'Twill murmur on a thousand years. 

And flow as now it flows. 



_J 



576 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION, 



" And here, on this dehglitful day, 

I cannot choose but think 
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 

Beside this fountain's brink. 

" My eyes ai"e dim with childisli tears, 

My heart is idly stirred ; 
For the same sound is in ray ears 

"Which in those days I heard. 

" Thus fares it still in our decay ; 

And yet the wiser mind 
Mourns less for what age takes away 

Than what it leaves behind. 

" The blackbird amid leafy trees. 

The lark above the hill. 
Let loose their carols when they please. 

Are quiet when tliey will. 

" With nature never do they Avage 

A foolish strife; they see 
A happy youth, and their old age 

Is beautiful and free. 

" But we are prest by heavy laws ; 

And often, glad no more, 
"We wear a face of joy, because 

"We have been glad of yore. 

'• If there be one wlio need bemoan 

His kindred laid in earth. 
The household hearts that were his own, 

It is the man of mirth. 

" My days, my friend, are almost gone ; 

My life has been approved. 
And many love me ; but by none 

Am I enough beloved ! " 

"Now both himself and me he wrongs. 

The man who thus complains! 
I live and sing my idle songs 

Upon these happy plains ; 

" And, Matthew, for thy children dead, 

I '11 be a son to thee ! " 
A.t this he grasped my hand, and said 

"Alas ! tliat cannot be." 



"We rose up from the fountain side ; 

And down the smooth descent 
Of the green sheep-track did we glide, 

And througli the wood we went ; 

And, ere we came to Leonard's rock, 

He sang those witty rhymes 
About the crazy old church clock, 

And the bewildered chimes. 

William Woedswokth 



THE CROWDED STREET. 

Let me move slowly through the street, 
Filled with an ever-shifting train. 

Amid tbe sound of steps that beat 

The muruauring walks like autumn rain. 

How fast the flitting figures come ! 

The mild, the fierce, the stony face — 
Some bright with tiioughtless smiles, and somt 

Where secret tears have left their trace. 

They pass to toil, to strife, to rest — 
To halls in which the feast is spread — 

To cliambers where the funeral guest 
In silence sits beside the dead. 

And some to happy homes repair. 

Where children pressing cheek to cheek. 

With mute caresses shall declare 
The tenderness they cannot speak. 

And some, who walk in calmness here, 
Shall shudder as they reach the door 

Where one who made their dwelling dear. 
Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 

Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, 
And dreams of greatness in thine eye ! 

Go'st thou to build an early name. 
Or early in the task to die ? 

Keen son of trade, with eager brow ! 

Who is now fluttering in thy snare? 
Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, 

Or melt the glittering spires in air ? 



THE SUNKEN CITY. 



611 



Wlio of tills crowd to-iiigbt shall tread 
The dance till daylight gleam again ? 

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? 
Who writhe in throes of mortal pain? 

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long 
The cold, dark hours, how slow the light; 

And some, who flaunt amid the throng, 
Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. 

Each where his tasks or pleasures call, 
They pass, and heed each other not. 

There is who heeds, who holds them all 
In His large love and boundless thought. 

These strnggling tides of life, that seem 
In wayward, aimless course to tend, 

Are eddies of the mighty stream 
That rolls to its appointed end. 

William Ctjllex Beyant. 



GOOD-BYE. 

Good-bye, proud world ! I 'm going home ; 
Thou art not my friend, and I 'm not thine. 
Long through thy weary crowds I roam ; 
A river-ark on the ocean brine, 
Long I 've been tossed like the driven foam ; 
But now, proud world ! I 'ra going home. 

Good-bye to flattery's fawning foce ; 

To grandeur with his wise grimace ; 

To upstart wealth's averted eye ; 

To supple oflice, low and high ; 

To crowded halls, to court and street ; 

To frozen hearts and hasting feet ; 

To those who go and those who come — 

Good-bye, proud world ! I 'm going home. 

I am going to ray own hearth-stone. 
Bosomed in yon green hills alone — 
A secret nook in a pleasant land, 
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned; 
Where arches green, the livelong day, 
Echo the blackbird's roundelay. 
And vulger feet have never trod — 
A spot that is sacred to thought and God. 



Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home, 
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome ; 
And when I am stretched beneath the pines, 
AVhere the evening star so holy shines, 
I laugh at the lore and pride of man, 
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; 
For what are they all, in their high conceit. 
When man in the bush with God may meet? 
IlALi'H Waldo Emeesos. 



THE SUNKEN" CITY. 

Hark ! the faint bells of the sunken city 
Peal once more their wonted evening 
chime ! 

From the deep abysses floats a ditty, 
Wild and wondrous, of the olden time. 

Temples, towers, and domes of many stories 
There lie buried in an ocean grave — 

Undescried, save when their golden glories 
Gleam, at sunset, through the lighted wave. 

And the mariner who had seen them glisten. 

In whose ears those magic bells do sound. 

Night by night bides there to watch and hs- 

ten, 

Though death larks behind each dark rock 

round. 

So the bells of memory's wonder-city 
Peal for me their old melodious chime ; 

So my heart pours forth a changeful ditty. 
Sad and pleasant, from the bygone time. 

Domes, and towers, and castles, fancy-builded, 
There lie lost to daylight's garish beams — 

There lie liidden, till unveiled and gilded. 
Glory-gilded, by my nightly di-eams! 

And then hear I music sweet upknelliug 
From many a well-known phantom band, 

And, through tears, can see my natural dwell- 
ing . 
Far oflf in the spirit's luminous land ! 

WiLDELM MiiELLEB. (Gcmian.) 
Translation of James Claeence Mangax. 



676 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION, 



GUY. 

Mortal mixed of middle clay, 
Attempered to the night and day, 
Interchangeable with things. 
Needs no amulets or rings. 
Gny possessed the talisman 
Tlidt all things from him began ; 
And as, of old, Polycrates 
Chained the sunshine and the breeze. 
So did Guy betimes discover 
Fortune was his guard and lover — 
In strange junctures felt, with awe. 
His own symmetry with law ; 
So that no mixture could withstand 
The virtue of his lucky hand. 
He gold or jewel could not lose, 
Nor not receive his ample dues. 
In the street, if he turned round. 
His eye the eye 'twas seeking found. 
It seemed his genius discreet 
Worked on the maker's own receipt. 
And made each tide and element 
Stewards of stipend and of rent ; 
So that the common waters fell 
As costly wine into his well. 

He had so sped his wise affairs 
That he caught nature in his snares; '" 
Early or late, the falling rain 
Arrived in time to swell his grain ; 
Stream could not so perversely wind 
But corn of Guy's v^as there to grind ; 
The siroc found it on its way 
To speed his sails, to dry his hay ; 
And the world's sun seemed to ri?r 
To drudge all day for Guy the wise. 
In his rich nurseries timely skill 
Strong crab with nobler blood did fill ; 
The zephyr in his garden rolled 
From plum trees vegetable gold ; 
And all the hours of the year 
With their own harvests honored were. 
There was no frost but welcome came. 
Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame. 
Belonged to wind and world the toil 
And venture, and to Guy the oil. 

Ealph Waldo Emekson. 



TEMPERANCE, OR THE CHEAP PHY- 
SICIAN. 

Go now ! and with some daring drug 
Bait thy disease ; and, whilst they tug, 
Thou, to maintain their precious strife, 
Spend the dear treasures of thy life. 
Go ! take physic — dote upon 
Some big-named composition. 
The oraculous doctor's mystic bills — 
Certain hard words made into pills; 
And what at last shalt gain by these ? 
Only a costlier disease. 
That which makes us have no need 
Of physic, that 's physic indeed. 
Hark, hither, reader! wilt thou see 
Nature her old physician be ? 
Wilt see a man all his own wealth, 
His own music, his own health — 
A man whose sober soul can tell 
How to wear her garments well — 
Her garments that upon her sit 
As garments should do, close and fit — 
A well-clothed soul that 's not oppressed 
Nor choked with what she should be dressed— 
A soul sheathed in a crystal shrine. 
Through which all her bi-ight features shine : 
As when a piece of wanton lawn, 
A thin aerial veU is drawn 
O'er beauty's face, seeming to hide. 
More sweetly shows the blushing bride — 
A soul whose intellectual beams 
No mists do mask, no lazy streams — 
A happy soul, that all the way 
To heaven hath a summer's day ? 
Wouldstsee a man whose well-warmed blood 
Bathes him in a genuine flood ? — 
A man whose tuned humors be 
A seat of rarest harmony ? 
Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, be- 
guile 
Age ? Wouldst see December's smile ? 
Wouldst see nests of new roses grow 
In a bed of reverend snow ? 
Warm thoughts, free spirits flattering 
Winter's self into a spring? — 
In sum, wouldst see a man that can 
Live to be old, and still a man ? 
Whose latest and most leaden hours 
Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers; 



SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. 



679 



And wlica life's sweet fablo ends, 
Soul and body part like friends— . 
No quarrels, murmurs, no delay — 
A kiss, a sigli, and so away ? 
This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see? 
Hark, hither ! and thyself be he. 

ElCHAKD CEASnAW. 



BACCHUS. 

BiJiNG me wiue, but wine which never grew 

In the belly of the grape. 

Or grew on vines whose tap-roots, reaching 

through 
Under the Andes to the Cape, 
Suffered no savor of the earth to 'scape. 

Let its grapes the morn salute 

Fi'om a nocturnal root. 

Which feels the acrid juice 

Of Styx and Erebus ; 

And tarns the woe of night, 

By its own craft, to a more rich delight. 

TTe buy ashes for bread, 

We buy diluted wine ; 

Give me of the true, — 

Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled 

Among the silver hills of heaven, 

Draw everlasting dew ; 

Wiue of wine, 

Blood of the world, 

Form of forms and mould of statures. 

That I intoxicated, 

x\nd by the draught assimilated. 

May float at pleasure through all natures; 

The bird-language rightly spell, 

And that which roses say so well. 

Wine that is shed 

Like the torrents of the sun 

Up the horizon walls. 

Or like the Atlantic streams, wliich run 

When the South Sea calls. 

Water and bread, 
Food which needs no transmuting, 
Eainbow-flowcring, wisdom-fruiting 
Wine which is already man, 
Food Avhich teach and reason can. 



Wine which music is, — 

Music and wine are one, — 

That I, drinking this. 

Shall hear far chaos talk with me ; 

Kings unborn shall walk with mc; 

And the poor grass shall plot and plan 

What it will do when it is man. 

Quickened so, will I unlock 

Every crypt of every rock. 

I thank the joyful juice 
For all I know : — 
Winds of remembering 
Of the ancient being blow. 
And seeming-solid walls of use 
Open and flow. 

Pour, Bacchus ! the remembering wine ; — 

Eetrieve the loss of me and mine ! 

Vine for the vine be antidote, 

And the grapes requite the lote ! 

Haste to cure the old despair, — 

Eeason in nature's lotus drenched. 

The memory of ages quenched. 

Give them again to shine ; 

Let wine repair what this undid ; 

And where the infection slid, 

A dazzling memory revive ; 

Eefresh the faded tints, 

Eecut the aged prints. 

And write my old adventures with the pen 

Which on the flrst day drew. 

Upon the tablets blue. 

The dancing Pleiads and eternal men. 

Ealpu Waldo Emeeson. 



SMOKIXG SPIEITUALIZED. 



Tnrs Indian weed, now withered quite. 
Though green at noon, cut down at night. 

Shows thy decay — 

All flesh is hay : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The pipe, so lily-like and weak, 
Docs thus thy mortal state bespeak ; 

Thou art e'en such — 

Gone with a touch : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



680 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



And when the smoke ascends on high, 
Then thou hehold'st the vanity 
Of worldly stuff- 
Gone with a puff: 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

And when the pipe grows foul within, 
Think on thy soul defiled with siu ; 

For then the fire 

It does require : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

And seest the ashes cast away, 
Then to thyself thou niayest say 

That to the dust 

Return thou must : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



Was this small plant for thee cut down ? 
So was the plant of great renown, 

Which mercy sends 

For nobler ends : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

Doth juice medicinal proceed 
From such a naughty foreign weed ? 

Then what's the power 

Of Jesse's flower ? 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The promise, like the pipe, inlays, 
And by the mouth of faith conveys 

What virtue flows 

From Sharon's rose : 
Thus think, aud smoke tobacco. 

In vain the unlightcd pipe you blow — 
Your pains in outward means are so, 

'Till heavenly fire 

Your heart inspire : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The smoke lilce burning incense towers ; 
So should a praying heart of yours 

With ardent c:ies 

Surmount the skies : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

AxONTMOirS. 



THE CANITY OF HUMAN" WISHES. 

IX IMITATIOX OF THE TEXTH SATIEE OF 
JUVEXAL. 

Let observation, with extensive view. 
Survey mankind from China to Peru ; 
Eemark each anxious toil, each eager strife. 
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life ; 
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, 
O'ersproad with snares the clouded maze of 

ftxte, 
Wliere wavering man, betrayed by venturous 

pride 
To chase the dreary paths without a guide, 
As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude, 
Shuns foncied ills, or chases airy good ; 
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice. 
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the siipi^liant 

voice ; 
How nations sink, by darling schemes op- 
pressed. 
When vengeance listens to the fool's request. 
Fate wings Avith every wish the afflictive dart. 
Each gift of nature and each grace of art ; 
With fiital heat impetuous courage glows. 
With fatal sweetness elocution flows, 
Impeaclmicnt stops the speaker's powerful 

breath, 
And restless fire precipitates on death. 

But, scarce observed, the knowing and the 
bold 

Fall in the general massacre of gold; 

Wide wasting pest! that rages unconfined 

And crowds with crimes the records of man- 
kind ; 

For gold his sword the hireling rufiian draws, 

For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws ; 

Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor 
safety buys, 

The dangers gather as the treasures rise. 

Let history tell where rival kings command, 
And dubious title shakes the madded land. 
When statutes glean the refuse of tlie sword. 
How much more safe the vassal than the lord ; 
Low skulks the hind below the rage of power, 
And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower ; 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 



081 



Untouched his cottage, aud his slumbers 

sound, 
Thougli confiscation's vultures hover round. 

The needy traveller, serene and gay, 
Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. 
Does envy seize thee ? crush the upbraiding 

joy, 

Increase his riches, and his peace destroy : 

Now fears in dire vicissitude invade. 

The rustling brake alarms, and quivering 

shade. 
Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief, 
One shows the plunder and one liides the 

thief. 

Yet still one general cry the skies assails, 

And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales ; 

Few know the toiling statesman's fear or 
care. 

The insidious rival aud the gaping heir. 
Once more, Democritus, arise on earth. 

With cheerful wisdom aud instructive mirth ; 

See motley life in modern trappings dressed, 

Aud feed with varied fools the eternal jest : 

Thou who eouldst laugh, where want en- 
chained caprice. 

Toil crushed conceit, and man was of a piece ; 

Where wealth unloved without a mourner 
died. 

And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride ; 

Where ne'er was known the form of mock 
debate. 

Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state ; 

Where change of favorites made no change 
of laws. 

And senates heard before they judged a 
cause ; 

IIow wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish 
tribe, 

Dart the quick taunt and edge the piercing 
gibe? 

Attentive truth and nature to descry, 

And pierce each scene with philosophic eye. 

To thee were solemn toys, or empty show. 

The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe : 

All aid tlie farce, and all thy mirth main- 
tain, 

Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are 
vain. 

90 



Such was the scorn that filled the sage's 
mind, 
Renewed at every glance on human kind; 
How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare, 
Search every state, and canvass every prayer. 

Unnumbered suppliants crowd preferment's 

gate, 
Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great ; 
Delusive fortune hears the incessant call. 
They mount, they shine, evaporate and fall. 
On every stage the foes of peace attend. 
Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks tbeii 

end. 
Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's 

door 
Pours in the mourning worshipper no more; 
For growing names the weekly scribbler lies, 
To gi'owing wealth the dedicator flies ; 
From every room descends the painted face 
That hung the bright palladium of the place, 
And, smoted in kitchens, or in auctions sold. 
To better features yields the frame of gold ; 
For now no more we trace in every line 
Heroic worth, benevolence divine ; 
The form distorted justifies the fall. 
And detestation rids the indignant wall. 

But will not Britain hear the last appeal. 
Sign her foes' doom, or guard the favorite's 

zeal? 
Through freedom's sons no more remon- 
strance rings. 
Degrading nobles and controlling kings; 
Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, 
And ask no questions but the price of votes ; 
With weekly libels and septennial ale. 
Their wish is full to riot and to rail. 

In full-flown dignity see Wolsey stand. 
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand ; 
To him the church, the realm, their powers 

consign. 
Through him the rays of regal bounty shine. 
Turned by his nod the stream of honor flows. 
His smile alone security bestows ; 
StiU to new heights his restless wishes tower. 
Claim leads to claim, and power advances 

power ; 



682 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Till conquest unresisted ceased to please, 
And rights submitted left liim none to seize ; 
At length his sovereign frowns — the train of 

state 
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to 

hate ; 
Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, 
Ilis suppliants scorn him, and his followers 

fly; 

N"ow drops at once the pride of awful state, 
The golden canopy, the glittering plate, 
Tlie regal palace, the luxurious board. 
The liveried army, and the menial lord ; 
With age, with cares, with maladies oppressed, 
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest ; 
Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings. 
And bis last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 

Speak, thou wliose thoughts at humble 

peace repine. 
Shall Wolsey's wealth with Wolsey's end be 

thine ? , 

Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content. 
The wisest justice on the banks of Trent? 
For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate. 
On weak foundations raise the enormous 

weight ? 
Wliy but to sink beneath misfortune's blow. 
With louder ruin to the gulfs below ? 

What gave great Villiers to the assassin's 

knife. 
And fixed disease on Harley's closing life ? 
What murdered Wentworth, and what exiled 

Hyde, 
By kings protected, and to kings allied ? 
What but their wish indulged in courts to 

shine. 
And power too great to keep or to resign ? 

When first the college rolls receive his 

name, 
The young enthusiast quits his ease for fanae ; 
Resistless burns the fever of renown. 
Caught from the strong contagion of the 

gown; 
O'er Bodley's dome his future labors spread, 
And Bacon's mansion trembles o'er his head. 
Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious 

youth, 
And virtue guard thee to the throne of truth ! 



Yet should thy soul indulge the generous heat 
Till captive science yields her last retreat ; 
Should reason guide thee with her briglitest 

T'ly, 
And pour on misty doubt resistless day ; 
Should no folse kindness lure to loose delight, 
Nor praise relax, nor difliculty fright ; 
Should tempting novelty thy cell refrain, 
And sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain ; 
Should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart. 
Nor claim the triumph of a lettered heart ; 
Should no disease the torpid veins invade, 
Nor melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade ; 
Yet hope not life from grief or danger free, 
Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee. 
Deign on the passing world to turn thine 

eyes. 
And pause awhile from letters to be wise ; 
Tliere mark what ills the scholar's life assail, 
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. 
See nations, slowly wise and meanly just, 
To buried merit raise the-tardy bust. 
If dreams yet flatter, yet again attend, 
Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end. 

Nor deem, when learning her last prize 

bestows, 
The glittering eminence exempt from foes ; 
See, when tlie vulgar 'scapes, despised or 

awed, 
Eeibellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. 
From meaner minds though smaller fines 

content. 
The plundered palace or sequestered rent. 
Marked out by dangerous parts, he meets the 

shock. 
And fatal learning leads him to the block ; 
Around his tomb let art and genius weep. 
But hear his death, ye blockheads, hear and 

sleep. 

The festal blazes, the triumphant show. 
The ravished standard, and the captive foe. 
The senate's thanks, the gazette's pompous 

tale. 
With force resistless o'er the brave prevail. 
Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirled, 
For such the steady Roman shook the world ; 
For such in distant lands the Britons shine. 
And stain with blocd the Danube or the 
Ehine ; 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 



683 



Tliis power lias praise, that virtue scarce can 

warm 
Till fixme supplies the universal charm. 
Yet reason frowns on war's unequal game, 
"Where wasted nations raise a single name ; 
And mortgaged states their grandsirc's wreaths 

regret, 
From age to age iu everlasting debt ; 
Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right 

convey 
To rust on medals, or on stones decay. 

On what foundation stands tlie warrior's 
pride, 
IIow just his hopes, let Swedish Charles 

decide : 
A. frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 
No dangers fright him, and no labors tire ; 
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain ; 
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, 
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field ; 
Behold surrounding kings their powers com- 
bine. 
And one capitulate, and one resign ; 
Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms 

in vain ; 
" Think nothing gained." he cries, " till naught 

remain. 
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, 
Apd all be mine beneath the polar sky !" 
The march begins in military state, 
And nation? on his eye suspended wait ; 
Stern famine guards the solitary coast. 
And winter barricades the realms of frost; 
He comes, nor want nor cold his course de- 
lay ;— 
Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day: 
The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands. 
And shows his miseries in distant lands ; 
Condemned a needy suppliant to wait. 
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 
But did not chance at length her error mend? 
Did no subverted empire mark his end ? 
Did rival raonarchs give the fatal wound? 
Or hostile milli')n3 press him to the ground ? 
His fiill was destined to a barren strand, 
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; 
lie left the name, at which the world grew 

pale, 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 



All times their scenes of pompous woes 
aflxird, 
From Persia's tyi-aut to Bavaria's lord. 
In gay hostility and barbarous pride, 
With half mankind embattled at his side. 
Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain 

pi-ey, 

And starves exhausted regions in his way ; 
Attendant flattery counts his myriads o'er. 
Till counted myriads soothe his pride no 

more; 
Fresh praise is tried till madness fires his 

mind. 
The waves he lashes, and -enchains the 

wind, 
New powers he claims, new powers are still 

bestowed, 
Till rude resistance lops the spreading god. 
The daring Greeks deride the martial show. 
And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; 
The insulted sea with humbler thought ho 

gains, 
A single skift" to speed his flight remains ; 
The encumbered oar scarce leaves the di-eaded 

coast 
Through purple billows and a floating host. 

The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour, 
Trios the dread summits of Ctesarean power, 
With unexpected legions bursts away, 
And sees defenceless realms receive his sway ; 
Short sway ! fair Austria spreads her mourn- 
ful charms. 
The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms ; 
From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze 
Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of 

praise ; 
The fierce Croatian and the wild Hussar, 
With all the sons of ravage crowd the war; 
The baffled prince, in honor's flattering bloom 
Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom. 
His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, 
And steals to death from anguish and from 
shame. 

"Enlarge my life with multitude of days ! " 
In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant 

prays ; 
Hides from himself its state, and shuns to 

know 
That life protracted is pi-otracted woe. 



684 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Time lioverg o'er, impatient to destroy, 
Ami shuts up all the passages of joy. 
In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, 
The fruit autumnal and the vernal flower; 
With listless eyes the dotard views the store. 
He views, and wonders that they please 

no more ; 
Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless 

wines, 
x\nd luxury with sighs her slave resigns. 
Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing 

strain, 
Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain : 
No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious 

ear, 
Though dancing mountains witnessed Orpheus 

near ; 
Nor lute nor lyre his feebler powers attend. 
Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend ; 
But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue. 
Perversely grave, or positively wrong. 
The still returning tale, and lingering jest 
Perplex the fawning niece and pampered 

guest, 
While growing hopes scarce pwe the gather- 
ing sneer, 
And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear ; 
The watchful guests still hint the last offence ; 
The daughter's petulance, the son's expense ; 
Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill, 
And mould his passions till they make his 

will. 

Unnumbered maladies his joints invade. 
Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade ; 
But unextinguished avarice still remains. 
And dreaded losses aggravate his pains ; 
He turns, with anxious heart and crippled 

hands, 
His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lauds ; 
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes. 
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. 

But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime 
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or 

crime ; 
An age that melts with unperceived decay. 
And glides in modest innocence away ; 
Whose peaceful day benevolence endears, 
Whose night congratulating conscience 

cheers ; 



The general fsivorite as the general friend ; 
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end ? 

Yet even on this her load misfortune flings, 
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; 
New sorrow rises as the day returns, 
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns ; 
Now kindred merit fills the sable bier. 
Now lacerated friendship claims a tear ; 
Year chases year, decay pursues decay, 
Still drops some joy from withering life 

away ; 
New forms arise, and different views en- 

Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage. 
Till pitying nature signs the last release. 
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. 

But few there are Avhom hours like these 
await. 
Who set unclouded in the gulfs of fate. 
From Lydia's monarch should the search de- 
scend. 
By Solon cautioned to regard liis end, 
In life's last scene what prodigies surprise. 
Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise : 
From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage 

flow. 
And Swift expires a driveler and a show I 

The teeming mother, anxious for her race, 
Begs for each birth the fortune of a face ; 
Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty 

spi'ing ; 
And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a 

king. 
Ye nymphs of rosj* lips and radiant eyes, 
Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise; 
Whom joys with soft varieties invite. 
By day the frolic, and the dance by night ; 
Who frown with vanity, who smile with 

art. 
And ask the latest fashion of the heart ; 
What care, what rules, your heedless charms 

shall save, 
Each nymph your rival, and eacli youth your 

slave ? 
Against your fame with fondness Late com 

bines. 
The rival batters, and the lover mines : 



DOWN LAY JN A NOOK, 



685 



With distant voice neglected virtue calls, 

Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance 
falls ; 

Tired with contempt, she quits the slippery 
reign, 

And pride and prudence take her seat in 
vain. 

[n crowd at once, where none the pass de- 
fend, 

The harmless freedom, and the private friend ; 

The guardians yield, by force superior plied : 

To interest, prudence ; and to flattery, pride. 

Here beauty falls betrayed, despised, dis- 
tressed, 

And hissing infamy proclaims the rest. 

"Where then shall hope and fear their objects 
find? 
Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant 

mind ? 
]'\[ust helpless man, in ignorance sedate. 
Roll darkling down the torrent of his f;ite ? 
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, 
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? 
Inquirer, cease ; petitions yet remain 
Which heaven may hear, nor deem religion 

vain. 
Still raise for good the supi^licating voice. 
But leave to heaven the measure and the 

choice. 
Safe in His power whose eyes discern afar 
The secret ambush of a specious prayer. 
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest. 
Secure, whate'cr He gives, He gives the best. 
Yet, when the sense of secret presence fires, 
And strong devotion to the skies aspires. 
Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind. 
Obedient passions, and a will resigned ; 
For love, which scarce collective man can 

fill; 
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill ; 
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat. 
Counts death kind nature's signal of retreat. 
These goods for man the laws of heaven or- 
dain ; 
These goods he grants, who grants tlie power 

to gain ; 
With these celestial wisdom calms the mind. 
And makes the happiness she does not find. 
Samuel Johxsox. 



HENCE ALL YOU VAIN DELIGHTS. 

Hexce all you vain delights, 
As short as ai"e the nights 

Wherein you spend your folly ! 
There's naught in this life sweet, 
If man were wise to see 't, 

But only melancholy ; 

Oh sweetest melancholy ! 
Welcome folded arms and fixed eyes, 
A sigh that, piercing, mortifies, 
A look that 's fastened to the ground, 
A tongue chained up without a sound! 
Fountain heads and pathless groves ; 
Places which pale passion loves ; 
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls ; 

A midnight bell, a parting groan — 

These are the sounds we feed upon ; 
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy 

valley. 
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely mel- 
ancholy. 

', Beattmomt and Fletciieu. 



SONG. 



Down lay in a nook my lady's brach 
And said, my feet are sore ; 
I cannot follow with the pack 
A-hunting of the boar. 



And though the horn sounds never so clear. 
With the hounds in loud uproar. 
Yet I must stop and lie down here. 
Because my feet are sore. 



The huntsman, when he heard the same. 

What answer did he give ? 

The dog that 's lame is much to blame, 

He is not fit to live. 

Heset Tatlob. 



686 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



DEJEOTIOX: A;N ODE, 

Late, late yestreen I saw tlie new moon, 
With the old moon in her arm ; 
And I fear, I fear, my master dear I 
We shall have a deadly storm. 

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence. 



Well! if the bard was weather- \yise, who 
made 
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, 
This night, so tranquil now, will not go 
hence 
Unronsed by winds that ply a busier trade 
Tlian those which mould yon cloud in lazy 

flakes, 
Or the dull sobbing draft that moans aud 
rakes 
Upon the strings of the Eolian lute, 
"Wliich better far were mute. 
For lo ! the new-moon, winter-bright. 
And overspread with phantom light — 
"With swimming phantom light overspread, 
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread! 
r see the old moon in her lap, foretelling 

The coming on of rain and squally blast. 
And oh ! that even now the gust were swell- 
ing. 
And the slant night-shower driving loud 
and fast ! 
Tliose sounds, which oft have raised me whilst 
they awed. 
And sent my soul abroad. 
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse 

give- 
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move 
and live. 



A grief witliout a pang, void, dark, and drear — 
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassiooed grief, 
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief. 
In word, or sigh, or tear — 

O lady! in this wan and heartless mood. 

To other thoughts by yonder throstle wooed. 
All tliis long eve, so balmy and serene. 

Have I been gazing on tlie western sky. 
And its peculiar tint of yellow green ; 

And still I gaze — and with how blank an eye ! 



And those thin clouds above, in flakes and 

" bars, 
That give away their motion to the stars — 
Those stars, that glide behind them or be- 
tween, 
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always 

seen — 
Yon crescent moon, as flxcd as if it grew 
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue : 
I see them all so excellently fair — 
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are ! 

III. 

My genial spirits fail ; 

And what can these avail 
To lift the smothering weight from off my 
breast ? 

It were a vain endeavor. 

Though I should gaze forever 
On that green light that lingers in the west ; 
I may not hope from outward forms to win 
The passion and the life whose fountains are 
within. 



lady! we receive but v.'hat we give, 
And in our life alone docs nature live ; 
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her 
shroud ! 
And would we auglit behold of higher 
worth 
Than that inanimate cold world allowed 
To the poor, loveless, ever-anxious crowd — 
Ah ! from the soul itself must issue forth 
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 

Enveloping the earth ; 
And from the soul itself must there be sent 

A sweet and potent voice of its own birth. 
Of all sweet sounds the life and element ! 



pure of heart ! thou necd'st not ask of me 
What this strong music in the soul may be — 
What, and wherein it doth exist — 
Tliis light, this glory, this fair luminous mist. 
This beautiful and beauty-making power. 
Joy, virtuous lady ! Joy that ne'er was 
given 
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour — 
Life, and life's effluence, cloud at once and 
shower 



DEJECTION — AN ODE. 



087 



Joy, lady, is the spirit and the power 
Which, wedding nature to us, gives in dower 

A new earth and new heaven. 
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud — 
Joy is the sweet voice, joy the luminous 
cloud^- 
"We in ourselves rejoice ! 
And thence flows all that charms our ear or 
sight — 
All melodies the echoes of that voice, 
All colors a suffusion from that light. 



Tliere Avas a time when, though my path was 
rough, 
This joy within me dallied with distress ; 
And aH misfortunes were but as the stuff 
Whence fancy made me dreams of happi- 
ness. 
For hope grew round me like the twining 

vine ; 
And fruits and foliage, not my oaati, seemed 

mine. 
But now afflictions bow me down to earth, 
ISTor care I that they rob me of my mirth ; 

But oh ! ea<;h visitation 
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth. 

My shaping spirit of imagination. 
For not to think of what I needs must feel. 

But to be still and patient, all I can ; 
And haply by abstruse research to steal 
From my own nature all the natural man — 
This was my sole resource, my only plan ; 
Till that which suits a part infects the whole. 
And now is almost grown the habit of my 
soul. 



Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my 
mind — 
Eeality's dark dream ! 
I turn from you, and listen to the wind, 
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a 
scream 
Of agony, by torture lengthened out. 
That lute sent forth ! Thou wind, that ravest 
without ! 
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted 
tree, 
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb. 
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home, 



Methinks were fitter instruments for thee, 
Mad lutanist ! who, in this month of showers, 
Of dark brown gardens, and of peeping 

flowers, 
Mak'st devils' yule, with worse than wintry 

song. 
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves 
among ! 
Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds! 
Thou mighty poet, e'en to frenzy bold ! 
What teU'st thou now about ? 
'T is of the rushing of a host in rout, 
With groans of trampled men, with smart" 
iug wounds — 
At once they groan with pain, arjd shudder 

with the cold. 
But hark ! there is a pause ox deepest silence ! 
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd. 
With groans, and tremulous shudderings — all 
is over — 
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep 
and loud ; 
A tale of less affright, 
And tempered with delight, 
As Otway's self had fi'amed the tender 
lay: 
'T is of a little child 
Upon a lonesome wild — 
Not far from home, but she hath lost her 

way ; 
And now moans low in bitter grief and 

fear — 
And now screams loud, and hopes to make 
her mother hear. 



'T is midnight, but small thoughts have I of 

sleep ; 
Full seldom may my friend such vigils 

keep! 
Visit her, gentle sleep, with wings of heal- 
ing! 
And may this storm be but a mountain- 
birth ; 
May all the stars hang bright above her 
dwelling, 
Silent as though they watched the sleeping 
earth ! 
With light heart may she rise, 
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes — 



688 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


Joy lift lier spirit, joy attune her voice ! 


And why I'm so plump the reason I tell — 


To her may all things live, from pole to pole — 


Who leads a good life is sure to live well. 


Their life the eddying of her living soul ! 


What baron or squire. 


simple spirit, guided from above ! 


Or knight of the shire. 


Dear lady! friend devoutest of ray choice! 


Lives half so Avell as a holy friai- 1 


Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice. 




Samuel Taylor Coleeidge. 


After supper of heaven I dream. 




But that is a pullet and clouted cream ; 




Myself, by denial, I mortify — 
With a dainty bit of a warden pic ; 




SIR MAEMADUK.E. 


I 'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin — 




With old sack wine I'm lined within; 


Sib Maemadtjke Avas a hearty knight — 
Good man ! old man ! 


A chirping cup is my matin song, 

And the vesper's bell is my bowl, ding dong. 


He 's painted standing bolt upright, 
With his hose rolled over his knee ; 


What baron or squire. 
Or knight of the shire, 




Lives half so well as a holy friar 3 


His periwig 's as white as chalk, 




And on his fist he holds a hawk; 


JoHi^ O'Kkefb. 


And he looks like the head 
Of an ancient ftimily. 








THE AGE OF WISDOM. 


His dining-room was long and wide — 




Good man ! old man ! 


Ho ! pretty page, with the dimpled chin, 


His spaniels lay by the fireside ; 


That never has known the barber's shear, 


And in other parts, d' ye sec, 


All your wish is woman to win ; 


Cross-bows, tobacco pipes, old hats, 


Tliis is the way that boys begin — 


A saddle, his wife, and a litter of cats ; 


Wait till you come to forty year. 


And he looked like the head 




Of an ancient family. 


Curly gold locks cover foolish brains ; 




Billing and cooing is all your cheer — 


He never turned the poor from the gate — 


Sighing, and singing of midnight strains. 


Good man ! old man ! 


Under Bonnybell's window panes — 


But was always ready to break the pate 


Wait till you come to forty year. 


Of his country's enemy. 




What knight could do a better thing 


Forty times over let Michaelmas pass ; 


Than serve the poor, and fight for his king? 


Grizzling hair the brain doth clear; 


And so may every head 


Then you know a boy is an ass, 


Of an ancient family. 


Then you know the worth of a lass — 


Geoeqe Colman, " the younger." 


Once you have come to forty year. 




Pledge me round ; I bid ye declare, 
All good fellows whose beards are gray- 






Did not the fairest of the fair 


r AM A FEIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 


Common grow and wearisome ere 






Ever a month was past away ? 


I AM a friar of orders gray. 




And down in the valleys I take my way ; 


The reddest lips that ever have kissed, 


I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip- 


The brightest eyes that ever have shone, 


Good store of venison fills my scrip ; 


May pray and whisper and we not list, 


My long bead-roll I merrily chant ; 


Or look away and never be missed — 


Where'er I walk no money I want; 


Ere yet ever a month is gone. 



THE LAST LEAF. 



689 



Gilliaa 's dead ! God rest her bier — 
How I loved her twenty years syne ! 

Marian 's married ; but I sit here, 

Alone and merry at forty year, 

Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. 

William Makepeace Thackeray. 



TO PERILLA. 

Ah, my Perilla ! dost thou grieve to see 
Me, day by day, to steal away from thee ? 
Age calls me hence, and my gray hairs bid 

come. 
And haste away to mine eternal home ; 
'T will not be long, Perilla, after this 
That I must give thee the supremest kiss. 
Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring 
Part of the cream from that religions spring. 
With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet ; 
That done, then wind me in that very sheet 
Which wrapped thy smooth limbs when thou 

didst implore 
The gods' protection, but the night before ; 
Follow me weeping to my turf, and there 
Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear. 
Then lastly, let some weekly strewings be 
Devoted to the memory of me ; 
Then shall my ghost not walk about, but 

keep 
Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep. 

EOBBET HeKEICK. 



THE ONE GRAY HAIR. 

The wisest of the wise 
Listen to pretty lies, 

And love to hear them told ; 
Doubt not that Solomon 
Listened to many a one — 
Some in his youth, and more when he grew 
old. 

1 never sat among 

The choir of wisdom's song, 

But pretty lies loved I 
As much as any king — 
When youth was on the wing, 
And (must it then be told?) when youth had 
quite gone by. 
91 



Alas ! and I have not 
The pleasant Jiour forgot. 

When one pert lady said — 
" O, Landor ! I am quite 
Bewildered with affright ; 
I see (sit quiet now !) a white hair on your 
head ! " 

Another, more benign, 
Drew out that hair of mine, 
And in her own dark hair 
Pretended she had found 
That one, and twirled it round. — 
Fair as she was, she never was so fair. 

Waltee Savage Landos. 



THE LAST LEAF. 

I SAW him once before, 
As he passed by the door ; 

And again 
The pavement-stones resound 
As he totters o'er the ground 

With his cane. 

They say that in his prime, 
Ere the pruning-knife of time 

Cut him down, 
Not a better man was found 
By the crier on his round 

Through the town. 

But now he walks the streets, 
And he looks at all he meets 

So forlorn; 
And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 

" They are gone." 

The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has pressed 

In their bloom; 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said — 
Poor old lady ! she is dead 



690 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT i^ N D REFLECTION, 



Long ago— 
That he had a Eoman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow. 

But now his nose is thin, 
And it rests upon his chin 

Like a staff; 
And a crook is in his hack, 
And a melancholy crack 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
Forme to sit and grin 

At him hero. 
But the old three-cornered hat, 
And the breeches — and all that, 

Are so queer ! 

And if I should live to he 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring. 
Let them smile, as I do now. 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 

Oliver WrNDELL Holmes. 



MEMORY. 

The mother of the muses, vre are taught, 
Is memory; she has left me ; they remain. 
And shake my shoulder, urging; me to sing 
About the summer days, my loves of old. 
" Alas ! alas ! " is all I can reply. 
Memory has left with me that name alone, 
Harmonious name, which other bards may 

sing. 
But her bright image in my darkest hour 
Comes back, in vain comes back, called or 

uncalled. 
Forgotten are the names of visitors 
Ready to press my hand but yesterday ; 
Forgotten are the names of earlier friends 
"Whose genial converse and glad countenance 
Are fresh as ever to mine ear and eye ; 
To these, when I have written, and besought 
Remembrance of me, the word "Dear" alone 
Hangs on the upper verge, and waits in vain. 
A blessing wert thou, oblivion. 



If thy stream carried only weeds away, 
But vernal and autumnal flov>^ers alike 
It hurries down to wither on the strand. 

Walter Savage Lanuoe. 



WAITIiS^G BY THE GATE. 

Beside a massive gateway built up in years 

gone by. 
Upon Avhose top the clouds in eternal shadow 

lie, 
Wliile streams the evening sunshine on quiet 

wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn 

for me. 

The tree tops ftiintly rustle beneath the 

breeze's flight, 
A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of 

the night; 
I hear the woodthrush i^ij^ing one mellow 

descant more. 
And scent the flowers that blow when the 

heat of day is o'er. 

Behold the portals open, and o'er the thresh- 
old, now, 

There steps a Aveary one with a pale and fur- 
rowed brow ; 

His count of years is full, his allotted task is 
wrought ; 

He passes to his rest from a place that needs 
him not. 

In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets 

the horn" 
Of human strength and action, man's courage 

and his power. 
I muse wliile stiU the woodthrush sings down 

the golden day. 
And as I look down and listen the sadness 

wears away. 

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, depart- 
ing, throws 

A look of longing backward, and sorrowful- 
ly goes ; 

A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from 
her hair, 

Moves mom-nfully away from amidst the 
young and fair. 



THE END OF THE PLAY. 



691 



Oh glorj of our race that so suddenly decays ! 
Oh crimson flash of morning that darkens as 

we gaze ! 
Oil breath of summer blossoms that on the 

restless air 
Scatters a moment's sweetness and flies, we 

know not where ! 

I grieve for life's brigbt promise, just shown 
and then withdrawn ; 

But still the sun shines round jne; the even- 
ing bu"d sings on. 

And I again am soothed, and, beside the an- 
cient gate, 

In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand 
and wait. 

Once more the gates are opened; an infant 
group go out, 

The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled 
the sprightly shout. 

Oh frail, frail tree of life, that upon the green- 
sward strows 

Its fair young buds unopened, with every 
wind that blows ! 

So come from every region, so enter, side by 

side, 
The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and 

men of pride, 
Steps of earth's great and mighty, between 

those pillars gray. 
And prints of little feet, mark the dust along 

the way. 

And some approach the threshold whose looks 

are blank with fear. 
And some whose temples brighten Avith joy 

in drawing near, 
As if they saw dear faces, and caught the. 

gracious eye 
Of him, the sinless teacher, vrho came for us 

to die. 

[ mark the joy, the terror ; yet these, Avithin 

my heart, 
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing 

to depart ; 
And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet 

wood and lea, 

I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn 

for me. 

William Cullks Bryant. 



THE END OF THE TLAY. 

The play is done — the curtain drops. 

Slow falling to the prompter's bell ; 
A moment yet the actor stops, 

And looks around, to say farewell. 
It is an irksome word and task; 

And, when he 's laughed and said his say, 
He shows, as he removes the mask, 

A face that 's any thing but gay. 

One word, ere yet the evening ends- 
Let 's close it with a parting rhyme ; 

And pledge a hand to all young friends. 
As fits the merry Christmas time ; 

On life's wide scene you, too, have parts. 
That fate ere long shall bid you play ; 

Good-night ! — with honest gentle hearts 
A kindly greeting go alway ! 

Good-night! — I'd say the griefs, the joys, 

Just hinted in this mimic page, 
The triumphs and defeats of boys, 

Are but repeated in our age ; 
I 'd say your woes were not less keen, 

Tom* hopes more vain, than those of men — 
Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen 

At forty-five played o'er again. 

I 'd say we sufiTer and we strive 

Not less nor more as men than boys — 
With grizzled beards at forty-five. 

As erst at twelve in corduroys ; 
And if, in time of sacred youth. 

We learned at home to love and pray, 
Pray heaven that early love and truth 

May never wholly pass away. 

And in the world, as in the school, ■ 

I 'd say how fate may change and shift — 
The prize be sometimes with the fool. 

The race not always to the swift ; 
The strong may yield, the good may fall. 

The great man be a vulgar clown. 
The knave be lifted over all. 

The kind cast pitilessly down. 

Who knows the inscrutable design? 

Blessed be He who took and gave ! 
Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, 

Be weeping at her darling's grave ? 



692 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION, 



"We bow to heaven that willed it so, 
That dai-kly rules the fate of all, 

That sends the respite or the blow, 
That 's free to give or to recall. 

This crowns his feast with wine and wit — 

Who brought him to that mirth and state ? 
His betters, see, below him sit. 

Or hunger hopeless at the gate. 
Who bade the mud fl-om Dives' wheel 

To spurn the rags of Lazarus? 
Come, brother, iu that dust we '11 kneel. 

Confessing heaven that ruled it thus. 

So each shall mourn, in life's advance. 

Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed — 
Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance. 

And longing passion unfulfilled. 
Amen ! — whatever fate be sent, 

Pray God the heart may kindly glow. 
Although the head with cares be bent. 

And whitened with the winter snow. 

Come wealth or want, come good or ill. 
Let young and old accept their part. 

And bow before the awful will, 
And bear it with an honest heart. 

Who misses, or who wins the prize- 
Go, lose or conquer as you can ; 

But if you fail, or if you rise. 
Be each, pray God, a gentleman. 

A gentleman, or old or young ! 

(Bear kindly with my humble lays ;) 
The sacred chorus first was sung 

Upon the first of Christmas days ; 
The shepherds heard it overhead — 

The joyful angels raised it then : 
Glory to heaven on high, it said, 

And peace on earth to gentle men ! 

My song, save this, is little worth ; 

I lay the weary pen aside. 
And wish you health, and love, and mirth. 

As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. 
As fits the holy Christmas birth, 

Be this, good friends, our carol still — 
Be peace on earth, be peace on earth. 

To men of gentle will. 

William Makepeace Thackeray. 



TIME'S CUBE. 

MouKN, rejoicing heart ! 

The hours are flying; 
Each one some treasure takes. 
Each one some blossom breaks, 

And leaves it dying ; 
The chill, dark night draws near- 
The sun will soon depart, 

And leave thee sighing; 
Then mourn, rejoicing heart! 

Tlie hour s are flying! 



Rejoice, O grieving heart ! 

The hours fly fast — • 
With each some sorrow dies, 
«V"ith each some shadow flies ; 

Until at last 
The red dawn in the east 
Bids weary night depart, 

And pain is past ; 
Rejoice then grieving heart! 

The hours fly fast ! 



ANON-JMOTrS. 



A PETITION TO TIME. 

Touch us gently, time! 

Let us glide adown thy stream 
Gently — as we sometimes glide 

Through a quiet dream. 
Humble voyagers are we. 
Husband, wife, and children three-- 
(One is lost — an angel, fled 
To the azure overhead!) 



Touch us gently, time ! 

We've not proud nor soaring wings ; 
Our ambition, our content, 

Lies in simple things. 
Humble voyagers are we. 
O'er life's dim, unsounded sea. 
Seeking only some calm clime ; — 
Touch us gently, gentle time ! 

Barry Cornwall. 



THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. 



693 



SONG. 

Time is a feathered thing, 

And whilst I praise 

The spai'klings of thy looks, and call them 

rays, 
Takes Aviug — 

Leaving behind hira, as he flics, 
An unperccived dimness in thine eyes. 

His minutes, whilst they are told. 
Do make us old; 
And every sand of his fleet glass. 
Increasing age as it doth pass. 
Insensibly sows wrinkles here, 
Where flowers and roses did appear. 

"Whilst we do speak, our fire 
Doth into ice expire ; 
Flames turn to frost ; 
And ei*e we can 

Know how our crow turns swan, 
Or how a silver snow 
Springs there where jet did grow. 
Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. 
Anonymous. 



THERE ARE GAINS FOR ALL OUR 
LOSSES. 

There are gains for all our losses — 
There are balms for all our pain ; 
But when youth, the di-eam, departs. 
It takes something from our hearts. 
And it never comes again. 

We are stronger and are better. 

Under manhood's sterner reign ; 
Still we feel that something sweet 
Followed youth, with flying feet, 
And will never come again. 

Something beautiful has vanished. 
And we sigh for it in vain ; 

We behold it everywhere, 

On the earth, and in the air. 
But it never comes again. 

UicnAno Henry Stoddard. 



SONNET. 

Sad is our youth, for it is ever going. 
Crumbling away beneath our very feet ; 
Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing 
In current unperceived, because so fleet; 
Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in 

sowing — 
But tares, self-sown, have overtopped the 

wheat; 
Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in 

blowing — 
And still, oh still, their dying breath is sweet ; 
And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft 

us 
Of that which made our childhood sweeter 

still ; 
And sweet is middle life, for it hath left us 
A nearer good to cure an older ill ; 
And sweet are all things, when we learn to 

prize them 
Not for their sake, but His who grants them 

or denies them ! 

Attbeey de Vere. 



THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. 

I SAID to sorrow's awful storm, 

That beat against my breast. 
Rage on ! — thou may'st destroy this form, 

And lay it low at rest ; 
But still the spirit tliat now brooks 

Thy tempest, raging high, 
Undaunted on its fury looks, 

With steadfast eye. 

I said to penury's meagre train. 

Come on ! your threats I brave ; 
My last poor hfe-drop you may drain, 

And crush me to the grave ; 
Yet still the spirit that endures 

Shall mock your force the while, 
And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours 

With bitter smile. 

I said to cold neglect and scorn. 

Pass on ! I heed you not ; 
Ye may pursue me till my form 

Aud being arc forgot ; 



694 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Yet still the spirit wliicli vou see 

Undaunted by your wiles, 
Draws from its own nobility 

Its high-born smiles. 

I said to friendship's menaced blow, 

Strike deep ! my heart shall bear ; 
Thou canst but add one bitter woe 

To those already there ; 
Yet still the spirit that sustains 

This last severe distress, 
Shall smile upon its keenest pains. 

An J scorn redress. 

I said to death's uplifted dart. 

Aim sure! oh, why delay? 
Thou wilt not find a fearful heart — 

A weak, reluctant prey ; 
For still the spirit, firm and free. 

Unruffled by this last dismay, 
"Wrapt in its own eteruity, 

Shall pass avray. 

Lavinia Stoddaed. 



MUTABILITY. 

The flower that smiles to-day 

To-morrow dies ; 
All that we wish to stay 

Tempts, and then flies ; 
What is this world's delight ? 
Lightning that mocks the night, 
Brief even as bright. 

Virtue, how frail it is! 

Friendship too rare ! 
Love, how it sells poor bliss 

For proud despair ! 
But we, though soon they fall, 
Survi^'e their joy, and all 
"Which ours we call. 

Whilst skies are blue and bright, 
Whilst flowers are gay. 

Whilst eyes that change ere night 
Make glad the day. 

Whilst yet the cahn hours creep. 

Dream thou ! and from thy sleep 

Then wake to weep. 

Pekot Bysshk Shelley. 



STANZAS. 

My life is like the summer rose 

That opens to the moi-ning sky. 
But, ere the shades of evening close. 

Is scattered on the ground — to die ! 
I'et on the rose's humble bed 
The sweetest dews of niglit are shed. 
As if she wept the waste to see — 
But none shall weep a tear for me ! 

My life is like the autumn leaf 

That trembles in the moon's pale ray ; 
Its hold is frail — its date is brief, 

Eestless — and soon to pass away ! 
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, 
The parent tree will mourn its shade. 
The winds bewail the leafless tree — 
But none shall breathe a sigh for me ! 

My life is like the prints which feet 

Have left on Tampa's desert strand ; 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat. 

All trace wiil vanish from the sand ; 
Y"et, as if grieving to eff'acc 
All vestige of the human race. 
On that lone shore loud moans the sea— 
But none, alas! shall mourn for me! 

EicHARD Henky "Wilde. 



NO MOKE. 

My wind has turned to bitter north, 

That was so soft a south before ; 
My sky, that shone so sunny bright, 

With foggy gloom is clouded o'er ; 
My gay green leaves are yellow-black 

Upon the dank autumnal floor; 
For love, departed once, comes back 

No more again, no more. 

A roofless ruin lies my home, 

For winds to blow and rains to pour; 
One frosty night befell — and lo ! 

I find my summer days are o'er. 
The heart bereaved, of why and how 

Unknowing, knows that yet before 
It had what e'en to memory now 

Returns no more, no more. 

AETHur. Hugh Clough. 



ODE TO DUTY. 



695 



On say not that iny heart is cold 

To aught that once could warm it — 
That nature's form, so dear of old, 

No more has power to charm it; 
Or that the ungenerous world can chill 

One glow of fond emotion 
For those who made it dearer still, 

And shared my wild devotion. 

Still oft those solemn sceues I view 

In rapt and dreamy sadness — 
Oft look on those who loved them too, 

With fancy's idle gladness ; 
Again I longed to view the light 

In natm'e's features glowing, 
Again to tread the mountain's height, 

And taste the soul's o'erflovnng. 

Stern duty rose, and, frowning, flung 

His leaden chain around me ; 
"With iron look and sullen tongue 

lie muttered as he hound me : 
"The mountain hreeze, the boundless 
lieaven, 

XJufit for toil tlie creature ; 
These for the free alone are given — 

But what have slaves with nature ? " 

CnAKLES Wolfe. 



ODE TO DUTY. 

Stekx daughter of the voice of God ! 
O duty ! if that name thou love 
Who art a light to guide, a rod 
To check the erring, and reprove — 
Thou, who art victory and law 
Wlien empty terrors overawe ; 
From vain temptations dost set free, 
And calm'st the weary strife of frail hu- 
manity ! 

There are who ask not if thine eye 
Be on them ; who, in love and truth, 
Where no misgiving is, rely 
Upon the genial sense of youth : 
Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot, 
Who do thy work, and know it not ; 



Long may the kindly impulse last ! 
But thou, if they should totter, teach them 
to stand fast ! 

Serene will be our days and bright, 
And happy will our nature be. 
When love is an unerring light, 
And joy its own security. 
And they a blissful course may hold 
Even now, wlio, not unwisely bold. 
Live in the spirit of this creed ; 
Yet find that other strength, according to 
their need. 

I, loving freedom, and untried, 
Xo sport of every random gust. 
Yet being to myself a guide. 
Too blindly have reposed my trust ; 
And oft, when in my heart was heard 
Thy timely mandate, I deferred 
The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
But thee I now would serve more strictly, 
if I may. 

Through no disturbance of my soul, 

Or strong compunction in me wrought, 

I supplicate for thy control. 

But in the quietness of thought; 

Me this unchartered freedom tires ; 

I feel the weight of chance desires. 

My hopes no more must change their name, 

I long for a repose that ever is the same. 

Stern lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace ; 
Nor know we any thing so fair 
As is the smile upon thy face ; 
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds. 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ; 
And the most ancient heavens, through 
thee, are fresh and strong. 

To humbler functions, awful power ! 
I call thee : I myself commend 
Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
Oh, let my weakness have an end ! 
Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
The confidence of reason give ; 
And in the light of truth thy bondman let 
me live ! 

William WonDSTVORiH. 



696 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



WHY THUS LONGING. 

"Why tlms longing, thus for ever sighing, 
For the far-off, unattained and dim, 

"While the beautiful, all round thee lying, 
Offerri up its low, perpetual hynin ? 

"Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching. 
All thy restless yearnings it would still ; 

Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching 
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to 
fill. 

Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee 
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw — 

If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 
To some little world through weal and woe ; 

If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten — 
No fond voices answer to thine own ; 

If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten. 
By daily sympathy and gentle tone. 

Not by deeds that win. the crowd's applauses. 
Not by works that give thee world-renown, 

Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses. 
Canst thou win and wear the immortal 
crown. 

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely, 
Every day a rich reward will give ; 

Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only, 
And truly loving, thou canst truly live. 

Dost thou revel in the rosy morning, 
When all nature hails the lord of light. 

And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning, 
Eobes yon fragrant fields in radiance 

bright ? 

Other hands may grasp the field and forest. 
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine ; 

But with fervent love if thou adorest, 

Tliou art wealthier — all the world is thine. 

Yet if through earth's wide domains thou 
rovest, 

Sighing that they art not thine alone. 
Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest, 

And their beauty, and thy wealth are gone. 



Nature wears the color of the spirit ; 

Sweetly to her worshipper she sings ; 
All the glow, the grace she doth inherit. 

Round her trusting child she fondly flings, 
IIaeriet Winblow, 



LOSSES. 



Upo^^ the white sea-sand 

There sat a pilgrim band, 
Telling the losses that their lives had known ; 

"While evening waned away 

From breezy cliff and bay, 
And the strong tides went out with weary 
moan. 

One spake, with quivering lip, 

Of a fair freighted ship, 
"With all his household to the deep gone down ; 

But one had wilder woe — 

For a fair face, long ago 
Lost in the darker depths of a great town. 

There were who mourned their youth 

"With a most loving ruth, 
For its brave hopes and memories ever green ; 

And one upon the west 

Turned an eye that would not rest. 
For far-oft' hills whereon its joy had been. 

Some talked of vanished gold. 

Some of proud honors told. 
Some spake of friends that were their trust 
no more ; 

And one of a green grave 

Beside a foreign wave. 
That made him sit so lonely on the shore. 

But when their tales were done. 

There spake among them one, 
A stranger, seeming from all sorrow free : 

''Sad losses have ye met, 

But mine is heavier yet ; 
For a believing heart hath gone from me." 

''Alas! " these pilgrims said, 

"For the living and the dead — 
For fortune's cruelty, for love's sure cross. 

For the wrecks of land and sea! 

But, however it came to thee. 
Thine, stranger, is life's last and heaviest loss." 
Feanoes Eeown. 



SONNETS. 



69*7 



HUMAN FRAILTY. 

Wkak and irresolute is man ; 

The purpose of to-day, 
TToven with pains into his plan, 

To-morrow rends away. 



The bow well bent, and smart the spring, 

Vice seems already slain; 
But passion rudely snaps the string. 

And it revives again. 

Some foe to his upright intent 

Finds out his weaker part ; 
Virtue engages his assent, 

But pleasure wins his heart. 

'T is here the folly of the wise 

Through all his art we view ; 
And while his tongue the charge denies, 

His conscience owns it true. 

Bound on a voyage of awful length 

And dangers little known, 
A stranger to superior strength, 

Man vainly trusts his own. 

But oars alone can ne'er prevail 

To reach the distant coast ; 
The breath of heaven must swell the sail, 

Or all the toil is lost. 

WiLLIAil CO'WTEE. 



"Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain. 
Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ? 
Goodness and greatness are not means, but 
ends. 

Hath he not always treasures, always friends. 
The great good man ? Three treasures— love, 
and light. 
And calm thoughts,, equable as infant's 
breath ; 
And three fast friends, more sure than day oi 
night — 
Himself, his maker, and the angel death. 
Samtjel Tayloe Coleeidge. 



THE GOOD GPvEAT MxiK 

How seldom, friend, a good great man in- 
herits 
Honor and wealth, with all his worth and 
pains ! 
It seems a story from the world of spirits 
When any man obtains that which he 
merits. 
Or any merits that which he obtains. 

For shame, my friend! renoimco this idle 

strain ! 
Wliat wouldst thou have a good great man 

obtain ? 

92 



SONNETS. 

ox HIS BEING AEIUVED TO THE AGE OF 
TWENTT-THEEE. 

How soon hath time, the subtle thief of 

youth, 
Stolen on his wing my three-and-tsventieth 

year ! 
My hasting days fly on with fall career, 
But my late spring no bud or blossom 

showeth. 
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the 

truth. 
That I to manhood am arrived so near; 
And inward ripeness doth much less appear 
That some more timely-happy spirits in- 

du'th. 
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow. 
It shall be stiU in strictest measure even 
To that same lot, however mean or high, 
Toward which time leatls me, and the will 

of heaven : 
All is, if I have grace to use it so, 
As ever in my great task-master's eye. 



ox THE LATE MASSACRE IX PIEDMOXT. 

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, 

whose bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains 

cold! 
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of 

old. 



098 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



When all our fathers worshipped stocks 

and stones, 
Forget not! in thy book record their groans 
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient 

fold 
Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that 

rolled 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their 

moans 
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
To heaven. Their martyred blood and 

ashes sow 
O'er all th' Italian fields, where still doth 

sway 
The triple tyrant ; that from tliese may 

grow 
A hundred fold, who, having learned thy 

way. 
Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 



0]Sr HIS EIJNDXESS. 

WiiF.:Nr I consider how ray light is spent 
Ere half my days, in this dark world and 

wide. 
And that one talent which is death to 

hide 
Lodged with me useless, though ni}^ soul 
more bent 
To serve there witli my maker, and present 
My true account, lest he returning chide — 
"Doth God exact day -labor, light de- 
nied ? " 
I fondly ask ; but jjatience, to prevent 
That murmur, soon replies : " God doth not 
need 
Either man's work, or liis own gifts ; who 

best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best ; 
liis state 
Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed. 
And post o'er land and ocean without 

rest ; 
They also serve who only stand and 
wait." 

John Miltox 



ROBIN HOOD. 

No ! those days are gone away, 
And their hours are old and gray, 
And their minutes buried all 
Under the down -trodden pall 
Of tlie leaves of many years ; 
Many times liave winter's shears, 
Frozen north, and chilling east 
Sounded tempests to the feast 
Of the forest's whispering iieeces, 
Since men knew nor rent nor leases. 

No ! the bugle sounds no more, 
And the twanging bow no more ; 
Silent is tlie ivory shrill. 
Past the heath and up the hill ; 
There is no mid-forest laugh, 
Where lone Echo gives the half 
To some wight amazed to hear, 
Jesting, deep in forest drear. 

On the foirest time of June 
You may go, with sun or moon, 
Or the seven stars, to light you, 
Or the polar ray to right you ; 
But you never may behold 
Little John, or Robin bold — 
Never one, of all the clan, 
Thrumming on an empty can 
Some old hunting ditty, while 
He doth his green way beguile 
To fair hostess merriment, 
Down beside the pasture Trent ; 
For he left the merry tale. 
Messenger for spicy ale. 

Gone the merry morris din ; 
Gone the song of Gamelyn ; 
Gone the tough-belted outlaw, 
Idling in tlie "greene shawe"— 
All are gone away and past ! 
And if Robin should be cast 
Sudden from his tufted grave. 
And if Marian should have 
Once again her forest days. 
She would weep, and he would craze; 
He would swear — for all his oaks. 
Fallen beneath the dock-yard strokes. 



THE WHITE ISLAND. 



699 



Have rotted on the briny seas ; 
She would weep that her wild bees 
Sang not to lier — strange! that honey 
Can't be got without hard money! 

So it is ! yet let us sing 
Honor to the old bow-string ! 
Honor to the bugle horn ! 
Honor to the woods unshorn ! 
Honor to the Lincoln green ! 
Honor to the archer keen ! 
Honor to tight little John, 
And the horse he rode upon ! 
Honor to bold Robin Hood, 
Sleeping in the underwood ! 
Honor to maid Marian, 
And to all the Sherwood clan ! 
Though their days have hurried by, 
Let us two a burden try. 

John Keats. 



OH ! THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD ! 

On ! the pleasant days of old, which so often 

people praise ! 
True, they wanted all the luxuries that grace 

our modern days : 
Bare floors were strewed with rushes — the 

walls let in the cold ; 
Oh ! how they must have shivered in those 

pleasant days of old ! 

Oh ! those ancient lords of old, how magnifi- 
cent they were ! 

They threw down and imprisoned kings — to 
thwart them who might dare ? 

They ruled their serfs right sternly ; they 
took from Jews their gold — 

Above both law and equity were those great 
lords of old ! 

Oh! the gallant knights of old, for their 

valor so renowned ! 
With sword and lance, and armor strong, 

they scoured the country round ; 
And whenever aught to tempt them they 

met by wood or wold, 
By right of sword they seized the prize — 

those gallant kniiihts of old ! 



Oh! the gentle dames of old! who, quite 

free from fear or pain, 
Could gaze on joust and toui*nament, and see 

their champions slain ; 
They lived on good beefsteaks and ale, which 

made them strong and bold — ■ 
Oh ! more like men than women were those 

gentle dames of old ! 

Oh ! those mighty towers of old ! with their 
turrets, moat and keep, 

Their battlements and bastions, their dun- 
geons dark and deep. 

Full many a baron held his court within the 
castle hold ; 

And many a captive languished there, in 
those strong towers of old. 

Oh ! the troubadours of old ! with their gen- 
tle minstrelsie 

Of hope and joy, or deep despair, whiche'er 
their lot might be — 

For years they served their ladye-love ero 
they their passions told— 

Oh ! wondrous patience must have had those 
troubadours of old ! 

Oh ! those blessed times of old I with their 

chivalry and state ; 
I love to read their chronicles, which such 

brave deeds relate ; 
I love to sing their ancient rhymes, to hear 

their legends told — 
But, heaven be thanked ! I live not in those 

blessed times of old ! 

Frances Brown. 



THE WHITE ISLAND ; 

OR, PLACE OF THE BLEST. 

In this world, the isle of dreams, 
While we sit by sorrow's streams, 
Tears and terrors are our themes, 

Eeciting-, 
But when once from hence wo fiie, 
More and more approaching nigh 
Unto young eternitie. 

Uniting 



VOO 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



In tliat winter island, where 
Things are evermore sincere — 
Candor here and lustre there 

Delighting. 
There no monstrous fancies shall 
Out of hell an horror call, • 
To create, or cause at all, 

Affrighting ; 
There in calm and cooling sleep 
We our eyes shall never steep, 
But eternal watch shall keep. 

Attending 
Pleasures, such as shall pursue 
Me immortaUzed, and you — 
And fresh joys, as never to 

Have ending. 

Robert Hekeick. 



THE HAPPY VALLEY. 



It was a valley filled with sweetest sounds ; 

A languid music haunted evcrywliere — 
Like that with which a summer eve abounds, 
From rustling corn, and song-birds calling 
clear 
Down sloping uplands, which some wood sur- 
rounds. 
With tinkling rills just heard, but not too 
near; 
And low of cattle on the distant plain. 
And peal of far-off bells — now caught, then 
lost again. 



It seemed like Eden's angel-peopled vale. 
So bright the sky, so soft the streams did 
flow; 
Such tones came riding on the musk-winged 
gale 
The very air seemed sleepily to blow ; 
And choicest flowers enamelled every dale. 
Flushed Avith the richest sunlight's rosy 
glow: 
It was a valley drowsy with delight — 
Such fragrance floated round, such beauty 
dimmed the siffht. 



The golden-belted bees hummed li the air ; 
The tall silk grasses bent and waved 
along ; 
The trees slept in the steeping sunbeam's 
glare ; 
The dreamy river chimed its undersong. 
And took its own free course without a 
care ; 
Amid the boughs did lute-tonged song- 
sters throng. 
And the green valley throbbed beneath their 

lays. 
Which echo echo chased through many a 
leafy maze. 



And shapes were there, like spirits of the 

flowers, 
Sent down to see the summer beauties 

dress. 
And feed their fragrant mouths with silver 

showers ; 
Their eyes peeped out from many a green 

recess. 
And their fair forms made light the thick-set 

bowers ; 
The very flowers seemed eager to caress 
Such living sisters; and the boughs, long- 
leaved. 
Clustered to catch the sighs their pearl-flushed 

bosoms heaved. 



One through her long loose hair was back- 
ward peeping. 
Or throwing, with raised arm, the locks 
aside ; 

Another high a pile of flowers was heaping, 
Or looking love-askance, and, when de- 
scried. 

Her coy glance on the bedded greensward 
keeping ; 
She pulled the flowers to pieces, as she 
sighed — 

Then blushed, hke timid daybreak, when the 
dawn 

Looks crimson on the night, and then again 'a 
withdrawn. 



AREANMORE. 



701 



One, with lier warm and milk-wliite arms 
outspread, 
On tip-toe tripped along a sun-lit glade — 
Half turned the matchless sculpture of her 
head, 
And half shook down her silken circling 
braid. 
She seemed to float on air, so light she sped ; 
Uer back-blown scarf an arched rainbow 
made ; 
She skimmed the wavy flowers, as she passed 

by, 

With fair and printless feet, like clouds along 
the sky. 

VII. 

One sat alone within a shady nook, 

"With wild-wood songs the lazy hours be- 
f uilin"" • 
Or looking at her shadow in the brook, 
Trying to frown — then at the eftbrt smil- 
ing; 
Tier laughing eyes mocked every serious 
look ; 
'T was as if Love stood at himself reviling, 
She threw in flowers, and watched them 

float away ; 
Then at her beauty looked, then sang a 
sweeter lay. 



Others on beds of roses lay reclined. 

The regal flowers athwart their full lips 
thrown, 
And in one fragrance both their sweets com- 
bined. 
As if they on the self-same stem bad 
grown — 
So close were rose and lip together twined, 
A double flower that from one bud had 
blown ; 
Till none could tell, so sweetly were they 

blended, 
Where swelled the cm-ving lip, or where the 
rose-bloom ended. 



One, half asleep, crushing the twined flowers, 
L'pon a velvet slope like Dian lay — 

Still as a lark that 'mid the daisies cowers ; 
Iler loopcd-up tunic, tossed in disarray. 



Showed rounded limbs too fair for earthly 

bowers ; 
They looked like roses on a cloudy day, 
The warm white dulled amid the colder 

green — 
The flowers too rough a couch that lovely 

shape to screen. 



Some lay like Thetis' nymphs along the 
shore, 
"With ocean-pearl combing then* golden 
locks. 
And singing to the waves for evermore — 
Sinking, like flowers at eve, beside the 
rocks. 
If but a sound above the muffled roar 

Of the low waves was heard. In little 
flocks 
Others went trooping through the wooded 

alleys. 
Their kirtles glancing white, like streams in 
sunny valleys. 



They were such forms as, imaged in the 
night. 
Sail in our dreams across the heaven's 
steep blue, 
"When the closed lid sees visions streaming 
bright. 
Too beautiful to meet the naked view — 
Like faces formed in clouds of silver light. 
"Women they were! such as the angels 
knew — 
Such as the mammoth looked on ere he fled, 
Scared by tlie lovers' wings that streamed m 
sunset red. 

Thomas Milleb. 



AEEANMOEE. 

Arraxmoee, loved Arranmore, 

How oft I dream of thee ! 
And of those days when by thy shore 

I wandered young and free. 
Full many a path I 've tried since then, 

Through pleasure's flowei-y maze, 
But ne'er could find the bliss again 

I felt in those sweet days. 



702 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


How Llithe upon the breezy cliffs 


For a' that, and a' that. 


At sunny morn I've stood, 


Their dignities, and a' that ; 


With hccart as bounding as the skiffs 


The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 


That danced along the flood ! 


Are higher ranks than a' that. 


Or when the western wave grew bright 




"With daylight's parting wing, 


Then let us pray that come it may. 


Have sought that Eden in its light 


As come it will for a' that, 


Which dreaming poets sing — 


That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. 




May bear the gree, and a' that. 


That Eden where th' immortal brave 


For a' that, and a' that. 


Dwell in a land serene — 


It 's coming yet, for a' that — 


Whose bowers beyond the shining wave, 


When man to man, the warld o'er. 


At sunset, oft are seen ; 


Shall brothers be for a' that. 


Ah dream, too full of saddening truth ! 


EOBEET BtTEKS. 


Those mansions o'er the main 
Are like the hopes I built in youth — 






As sunny and as vain ! 


" CONTEMPLATE ALL THIS WOEK." 


TUOMAS MOOEE. 






Contemplate all this work of time, 




The giant laboring in his youth ; 


HONEST POVERTY. 


Nor dream of human love and truth 


Is there for honest poverty 


As dying nature's earth and lime ; 


Wha hangs his head, and a' that ? 


But trust that those we call the dead 


The coward-slave, we pass him by ; 


Are breathers of an ampler day 


We dare be poor for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 


For ever nobler ends. They say 
The solid earth whereon we tread 


Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 




The rank is but the guinea's stamp — 


In tracts of fluent heat began. 


The man's the gowd for a' that. 


And grew to seeming random forms, 




The seeming prey of cyclic storms. 


What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 


O 1 */ •/ J 

Till at the last arose the man — 


Wear hodden grey, and a' that; 




Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine — 


Who throve and branched from clime to clime, 


A man's a man for a' that. 


The herald of a higher race. 


For a' that, and a' that. 


And of himself in higher place, 


Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 


If so he types this work of time 


The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 




Is king o' men for a' that 


Within himself, from more to more ; 




And crowned with attributes of woe 


You see yon birkie ca'd a lord. 


Like glories, move his course, and show 


Wha struts, and stares, and a' that — 


That life is not an idle ore, 


Tho' hundreds worship at liis word. 




He 's but a coof for a' tliat ; 


But iron dug from central gloom. 


For a' that, and a' that. 


And heated hot with burning fears, 


His riband, star, and a' that ; 


And dipped in baths of hissing tears, 


The man of independent mind, 


And battered with the shocks of doom 


He looks and laughs at a' that. 


To shape and use. Arise and fly 


A prince can raak a belted knight. 


The reeling faun, the sensual feast ! 


A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 


Move upward, working oi>t the beast, 


But an honest man's aboon his might — 


And let the ape and tiger die ! 


Guid faith, he mauna fa' that! 


Alfred Tennyson. 



IF THAT WERE TRUE. 



'703 



IS IT COME? 

Is it come ? tliey said, on tbo banks of the 
Nile, 
"Who looked for the world's long-promised 

And saw but the strife of Egypt's toil, 
With the desert's sand and the granite gray. 

From the pyramid, temple, and treasured 
dead, 
"We vainly ask for her wisdom's plan ; 

They tell us of the tyrant's dread — 
Yet there was hope when that day began. 

The Chaldee came, with his starry lore. 

And built up Babylon's crown and creed ; 
And bricks were stamped on the Tigris shore 

"With signs which our sages scarce can read. 
From Ninus' temple, and Nimrod's tower. 

The rule of the old east's empire spread 
Unreasoning faith and unquestioned power — 

But still, Is it come ? the watcher said. 

The light of the Persian's worshipped flame, 

The ancient bondage its splendor threw ; 
And once, on the west a sunrise came, 

"When Greece to her freedom's trust was 
true ; 
With dreams to the utmost ages dear. 

With human gods, and with god-like men. 
No marvel the far-oflf day seemed near. 

To eyes that looked through her laurel s then. 

The Romans conquered, and revelled too. 

Till honor, and faith, and power, were gone ; 
And deeper old Europe's darkness grew. 

As, wave after wave, the Goth came on. 
The gown was learning, the sword was law ; 

The people served in the oxen's stead ; 
But ever some gleam the watcher saw, 

And evermore, Is it come? they said. 

Poet and seer that question caught. 

Above the din of life's fears and frets ; 
It marched with letters, it toiled with thought, 

Through schools and creeds which the 
eortli forgets. 
And statesmen trifle, and priests deceive. 

And traders barter our world away — 
Yet hearts to that golden promise cleave. 

And still, at times, Is it come ? they say. 



The days of the nations bear no trace 

Of all the sunshine so far foretold ; 
The cannon speaks in the teacher's j^lace — 

The age is weary with work and gold ; 
And high hopes wither, and memories wane; 

On hearths and altars the fires are dead ; 
But that brave faith hath not lived in vain— 

And this is all that our watcher said. 

Fkances Beown. 



IF THAT WEEE TRUE ! 

'T IS long ago, — we have toiled and traded, 
Have lost and fretted, have gained and grieved. 
Since last the light of that fond faith faded ; 
But, friends — in its day — what we believed ! 
The poets' dreams and the peasants' stories — 
Oh, never will time that trust renew ! 
Yet they were old on the earth before us. 
And lovely tales, — had they been true ! 

Some spake of homes in the greenwood hid 

den. 
Where age was fearless and youth was free — 
Where none at life's board seemed guest? 

unbidden. 
But men had years like the forest tree : 
Goodly and fair and full of summer, 
As lives went by when the world was new, 
Ere ever the angel steps passed from her, — 
Oh, dreamers and bards, if that were true! 

Some told us of a stainless standard — 
Of hearts that only in death grew cold. 
Whose march vras ever in freedom's van 

guard, 
And not to be stayed by steel or gold. 
The Vv'orld to their very graves was debtor— 
The tears of her love fell there like dew ; 
But there had been neither slave nor fetter 
This day in her realms, had that been true ! 

Our hope grew strong as the giant-slayer. 
They told that life was an honest game. 
Where fortune favored the fairest player, 
And only the false found loss and blame — 
That men were honored for gifts and graces, 
And not for the prizes folly drew ; 
But there would be many a change of places, 
In hovel and hall, if that were true ! 



704 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REELECTION. 



Some said to onr silent souls, What fear ye ? 
And talked of a love not based on clay — 
Of" faith that would neither wane nor weary, 
With all the dust of the pilgrim's day ; 
They said that fortune and time were changers, 
But not by their tides such friendship grew ; 
Oh, we had never been trustless strangers 
Among our people, if that were true ! 

And yet since the fairy time hath perished. 
With all its freshness, from hills and hearts, 
The last of its love, so vainly cherished, 
Is not for these days of schools and marts. 
Up, up ! for the heavens still circle o'er us ; 
There 's wealth to win and there 's work to do. 
There 's a sky above, and a grave before us — 
And, brothers, beyond them all is true ! 

Feances Beowk. 



THE WORLD. 

'T IS all a great show. 

The world that we 're in — 
None can tell when 't was finished, 

None saw it begin ; 
Men wander and gaze through 

Its courts and its halls, 
Like children whose love is 

The picture-hnng walls. 

There are flowers in the meadow. 

There are clouds in the sky — 
Songs pour from the woodland. 

The waters glide by; 
Too many, too many 

For eye or for ear, 
Tlie sights that we see, 

And the sounds that we hear. 

A weight as of slumber 

Comes down on the mind ; 
So swift is life's train 

To its objects we 're blind ; 
I myself am but one 

In the fleet-gliding show — 
Like others I walk. 

But know not where I go. 

One saint to another 
I heard say " How long ? " 

I listened, but naught more 
I heard of his sono- ; 



The shadows are walking 
Through city and plain — 

How long shall the night 
And its shadow remain ? 

How long ere shall shine. 
In this glimmer of things, 

The light of which prophet 
In prophecy sings ? 

And the gates of that city 
Be open, whose sun 

No more to the west 

Its cu-cuit shall run ! 

Jones Ykry. 



BE PATIENT. 

Be patient! oh, be patient! Put your ear 

against the earth ; 
Listen there how noiselessly the germ o' the 

seed has birth — 
How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its 

little way. 
Till it parts the scarcely broken ground, and 

the blade stands up in the day. 

Be patient! oh, be patient! The germs of 

mighty thought 
Must have their silent undergrowth, must 

undei'ground be wrought ; 
But as sure as there 's a power that makes 

the grass appear, 
Our land shall be green with liberty, the 

blade-time shall be here. 

Be patient ! oh, be patient ! — go and watch 

the wheat ears grow — 
So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change 

nor throe — 
Day after day, day after day, till the ear is 

fully grown, 
And then again day after day, till the ripened 

fleld is brown. 

Be patient ! oh, be patient ! — though yet our 
hopes are green. 

The harvest fields of freedom shall be crown- 
ed with sunny sheen. 

Be ripening! be ripening! — mature your si- 
lent way. 

Till the whole broad land is tongued with 
fire on freedom's harvest day ! 

Anonymous. 



EACH AND ALL, 



'705 



THERE BE THOSE. 

There be those who sow beside 
The waters that in silence glide, 
Trusting no echo will declare 
Whose footsteps ever wandered there. 

The noiseless footsteps pass away, 
The stream flows on as yesterday ; 
Nor can it for a time be seen 
A benefactor there had been. 



Yet think not that the seed is dead 
Which in the lonely place is spread ; 
It lives, it lives — the spring is nigh, 
And soon its life shall testify. 

That silent stream, that desert ground, 
No more unlovely shall be found; 
But scattered flowers of simplest grace 
Shall spread their beauty round the place. 

And soon or late a time will come 
When witnesses, that now are dumb, 
With grateful eloquence shall tell 
From whom the seed, there scattered, fell. 

Beknakd Bakton. 



EACH A^D ALL. 

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked 

clown 
Of thee from the hill-top looking down ; 
The heifer that lows in the upland farm. 
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; 
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon. 
Deems not that great Napoleon 
Stops his horse, and lists with delight. 
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine 

height ; 
Nor knowest thou what argument 
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 
All are needed by each one — 
Nothing is fair or good alone. 
93 



I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 
Singing at dawn on the alder bough ; 
I brought him home, in his nest, at even. 
He sings the song, but it pleases not now ; 
For I did not bring home the river and 

sky: 
He sang to my ear — they sang to my eye. 

The delicate shells lay on the shore ; 
The bubbles of the latest wave 
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave. 
And the bellowing of the savage sea 
Greeted their safe escape to me. 
I wiped away the weeds and foam — 
I fetched my sea-born treasures home ; 
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 
Had left their beauty on the shore, 
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild up- 
roar. 

The lover watched his graceful maid. 

As 'mid the virgin train she strayed ; 

Nor knew her beauty's best attire 

Was woven still by the snow-white choir. 

At last she came to his hermitage, 

Like the bird from the woodlands to the 

cage ; 
The gay enchantment was undone — 
A gentle wife, but fairy none. 

Then I said, "I covet truth ; 

Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat — 

I leave it behind with the games of youth." 

As I spoke, beneath my feet 

The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, 

Running over the club-moss burrs ; 

I inhaled the violet's breath ; 

Around me stood the oaks and firs ; 

Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground; 

Over me soared the eternal sky, 

Full of light and of deity ; 

Again I saw, again I heai'd, 

The rolling river, the morning bird ; 

Beauty through my senses stole — 

I yielded myself to the perfect whole. 

Kalph Waldo Ejcbkbon. 



706 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE LOST CHURCH. 

In yonder dim and pathless wood 

Strange sounds are heard at twilight hour, 
And peals of solemn music swell 

As from some minster's lofty tower. 
From age to age those sounds are heard, 

Borne on the breeze at twilight hour — 
From age to age no foot hath found 

A pathway to the minster's tower ! 

Late, wandering in that ancient wood. 

As onward through the gloom I trod. 
From all the woes and wrongs of earth 

My soul ascended to its God. 
When lo ! in the hushed wilderness 

I heard, far oft', tliat solemn bell : 
Still, heavenward as my spirit soared, 

Wilder and sweeter rang the knell. 

Wliile thus in holy musings wrapt. 

My mind from outward sense withdrawn. 
Some power had caught me from the earth. 

And far into the heavens upborne. 
Methought a hundred years had passed 

In mystic visions as I lay — 
When suddenly the parting clouds 

Seemed opening wide, and far away. 

No midday sun its glory shed. 

The stars were shrouded from my sight ; 
And lo ! majestic o'er my head, 

A minster shone in solemn light. 
High through the lurid heavens it seemed 

Aloft on cloudy wings to rise, 
Till all its pointed turrets gleamed. 

Far flaming, through the vaulted skies ! 

The bell with full resounding peal 

Rang booming through the rocking tower ; 
No hand had stirred its iron tongue. 

Slow swaying to the storm-wind's power. 
My bosom beating like a bark 

Dashed by the surging ocean's foam, 
I trod with faltering, fearful joy 

The mazes of the mighty dome. 

A soft light through the oriel streamed 
Like summer moonlight's golden gloom, 

Far through the dusky arches gleamed. 
And filled with glory all the room. 



Pale sculptures of the sainted dead 
Seemed waking from their icy thrall; 

And many a glory-circled head 
Smiled sadly from the storied wall. 

Low at the altar's foot I knelt, 

Transfixed with awe, and dumb with dread ; 
For, blazoned on the vaulted roof, 

Were heaven's fiercest glories spread. 
Yet when I raised my eyes once more. 

The vaulted roof itself was gone — 
Wide open was heaven's lofty door. 

And every cloudy veil withdrawn ! 

What visions burst upon my soul, 

What joys unutterable there 
In waves on waves for ever roll 

Like music through the pulseless air — 
These never mortal tongue may tell : 

Let him who fain would prove their power 
Pause when he hears that solemn knell 

Float on the breeze at twilight hour. 

LiTDwiG UnLAND. (Gcrmap>. 
Paraphrase of Saeah Helen Whitman. 



THE GARDEN OF LOVE. 

I WENT to the garden of love, 
And saw what I never had seen ; 
A chapel was built in the midst. 
Where I used to play on the green. 

And the gate of this chapel was shut, 
And "thou shalt not" writ over the door; 
So I turned to the garden of love, 
That so many sweet flowers bore. 

And I saw it was filled with graves. 

And tomb-stones where flowers should be; 

And priests in black gowns were walking 
their rounds. 

And binding with briars my joys and de- 
sires. 

William Blake. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



707 



THE PROBLEM. 

I LIKE a church ; I like a cowl — 
I love a prophet of the soul ; 
And on my heart monastic aisles 
Fall like sweet strains, or pensive smiles ; 
Yet not for all his faith can see, 
Would I that coAvled churchman be. 
Why should the vest on him allure 
Which I could not on me endure ? 

Not from a vain or shallow thought 

His awful Jove young Phidias brought ; 

Never from lips of cunning fell 

The thrilling Delphic oracle ; 

Out from the heart of nature rolled 

The burdens of the bible old ; 

The litanies of nations came. 

Like the volcano's tongue of flame, 

Up from the burning core below — 

The canticles of love and woe ; 

The hand that rounded Peter's dome, 

And groined the aisles of Christian Piorae, 

"Wrought in a sad sincerity ; 

Himself from God he could not free ; 

He builded better than he knew — 

The conscious stone to beauty grew. 

Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's 

nest 
Of leaves, and feathers from her breast ? 
Or how the fish outbuilt her shell. 
Painting with morn each annual cell? 
Or how the sacred pine-tree adds 
To her old leaves new myriads? 
Such and so grew these holy piles, 
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. 
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon, 
As the best gem upon her zone ; 
And morning opes with haste her lids 
To gaze upon the pyramids ; 
O'er England's abbeys bends the sky, 
As on its friends, with kindred eye: 
For out of thought's interior sphere 
These wonders rose to upper air ; 
And nature gladly gave them place, 
Adopted them into her race. 
And granted them an equal date 
"With Andes and with Ararat. 



These temples grew as grows the grass — 

Art might obey, but not surp.-tss. 

The passive master lent his hand 

To the vast soul that o'er him planned; 

And the same power that reared the shrine 

Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. 

Ever the fiery Pentecost 

Girds with one llame the countless host, 

Trances the heart through chanting choirs, 

And through the priest the mind inspires. 

The word unto the prophet spoken 

"Was writ on tables yet unbroken ; 

The word by seers or sibyls told, 

In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, 

Still floats upon the morning wind, 

Still whispers to the willing mind. 

One accent of the Holy Ghost 

The heedless world hath never lost. 

I know what say the fathers wise — 

The book itself before me lies — 

Old Chrysostom, best Augustine, 

And he who blent both in his line, 

The younger golden lips or mines — 

Taylor, the Shakespeaz'e of divines ; 

His Avords are music in my ear — 

I see his cowled portrait dear ; 

And yet, for all his faith could see, 

I would not the good bishop be. 

Ealph Waldo Emerson. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur heiir, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals of the iioor. 

Gray. 

My loved, my honored, much -respected 
friend ! 
No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end, 
My dearest meed a friend's esteem and 
praise. 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 

The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; 

The native feelings strong, the guileless 

ways — 

What Aiken in a cottage would have been: 

Ah! tho' his worth imknown, far happier 

there, I ween. 



70S 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugli ; 
The short'uing winter day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the plengh, 
The black'ning trains o' craws to their re- 
pose. 
The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes — 

This night his weekly moil is at an end — 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his 
hoes, 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend ; 
And weary, o'er the moor, his com'se does 
hameward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee things, todlin, stacher thro' 
To meet their dad wi' flichterin noise and 
glee. 
His wee bit ingle blinkiu' bonnilie. 
His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's 
smile. 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does a' hi& weary, carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labor and 
his toil. 

Belyve the elder bairns come drappin' in — 
At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie 
rln 
A cannie errand to a neebor town. 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her 
ee, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new 
gown, 
Or deposite her sair-won penny fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in hard- 
ship be. 

AVi' joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers ; 
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed 
fleet; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years — 

Antioipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers. 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the 
new ; 

The father mixes a' wi' admonition due : 



Their masters' and their mistresses' cons 
mand 

The younkers a' are warned to obey. 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play 
An' oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. 

Implore his counsel and assisting might : 

They never sought in vain that sought the 
Lord aright ! 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's ee, and flush her cheek ; 
Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his 
name, 

"While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 

"Weel pleased the mother hears it 's nae 
wild, worthless rake. 

"Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben — 
A strappan youth, he taks the mother's 
eye; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill ta'en ; 
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and 
kye ; 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel be- 
have ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
"What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae 

grave — 
"Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected 
like the lave. 

happy love ! where love like this is found ! 
heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond com- 
pare ! 

1 've paced much this weary mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure 
spare. 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair. 
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents 
the evening gale. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



?09 



Is there, in liuraan form that bears a lieart, 

A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth, 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
CiU'se on his perjured arts! dissembling 
smooth ! 
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled ? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 
Points to the parents fondling o'er their 

child- 
Then paints the ruined maid, and their dis- 
traction wild ? 

But now the supper crowns their simple 
board : 
The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's 
food; 
The soup their only hawkie does afford. 
That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her 
cud; 
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood. 
To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck 
fell, 
An' aft he 's pressed, and aft he ca's it good ; 
The frugal wilie, garrulous, will tell 
How 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was 
i' the bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big lia'-bible, ance his father's pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 

His lyart haffets wearin' thin and bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion 
glide 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 

And "Let us worship God ! " he says with 
solemn air. 



They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest 

aim ; 

Perhaps Dundee's Avild, warbling measures 

rise. 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy o' the name ; 

Or noble Elgin beets the heavenward flame — 

The sweetest far o' Scotia's holy lays ; 
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 



The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures 

raise — 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator'.- 

praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page : 
How Abraham was the friend of God on 
high ; 

Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 

Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 



Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred 
lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme : 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was 
shed ; 
How he, who bore in heaven the second 
name. 
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head ; 
How his first followers and servants sped — 
The precepts sage they wrote to many a 
land ; 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced 
by heaven's command. 

Then kneeling down to heaven's eternal king. 
The saint, the father, and the husband 
prays : 

Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing " 
That thus they all shall meet in future days ; 

There ever bask in uncreated rays. 
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear — 

Together hymning their creator's pi'aise. 
In such society, yet still more dear. 
While circling time moves round in an 
eternal sphere. 

Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, 
In all the pomp of method and of art. 

When men display to congregations wide 
Devotion's every grace except the heart ! 

The power, incensed, the pageant will desert, 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 

But haply, in some cottage far apart, ' 



710 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



May hear, well pleased, tbe language of tlie ' 

soul, 
And in Lis book of life the inmates poor 

enroll. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And pi-offer up to heaven the warm re- 
quest 
That lie who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide — 

But chiefly in their hearts with grace di- 
vine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur 
springs, 
That makes her loved at home, revered 
abroad. 
Princes and lords are hut the breath of kings — 
"An honest man's the noblest work of 
God;" 
And, certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, 
The cottage leaves the palace far behind. 
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness re- 
fined ! 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 
For whom my warmest wish to heaven is 
sent! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet 
content ! 
And, oh ! may heaven their simple lives pre- 
vent 
From luxury's contagion weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much- 
loved isle. 

O thou ! Avho poured the patriotic tide 
That streamed through Wallace's undaunted 
, heart — 

Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, tlie second glorious part — 



(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art — 
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !^ 

Oh never, never Scotia s realm desert ; 

But still the patriot and the patriot bard 

In bright succession raise, her ornament 

and guard ! 

r.OBEKT Burns. 



HALLOWED GEOUND. 

What 's hallowed ground ? ILas earth a clod 
Its maker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image of his God 

Erect and free. 
Unscourged by superstition's rod 

To bow the knee ? 

That 's hallowed ground where, mourned and 

missed. 
The lips repose our love has kissed: — 
But where 's their memory's mansion ? Is 't 

Yon churchyard 's bowers ? 
No ! in ourselves their souls exist, 

A part of ours. 

A kiss can consecrate the ground 
Where mated hearts are mutual bound ; 
The spot where love's first links were wound 

That ne'er are riven. 
Is hallowed, down to earth's profound, 

And up to heaven ! 

For time makes all but true love old ; 
The burning thoughts that then were told 
Run molten still in memory's mould ; 

And will not cool 
Until the heart itself be cold 

In Lethe's pool. 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'T is not the sculptured piles you heap ! — 
In dews tliat heavens far distant weep 

Their turf may bloom, 
Or genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

But strew his ashes to the wind 

Whose sword or voice has served mankind— 



THE HAPPY LIFE. 



1U 



And is ])e dead whose glorious mind 

Lifts thine on high? — 
To live in hearts we leave bcliind 

Is not to die. 

Is't death to full for freedom's right? 
lie 's dead alone that lacks her light! 
And murder sullies in heaven's sight 

The sword he draws : — 
"Wliat can alone ennoble fight? 

A noble cause ! 

Give that ! and welcome war to brace 

Her drums, and rend heaven's reeking space ! 

The colors planted face to face, 

The charging cheer. 
Though deatli 's pale horse lead on the chase. 

Shall still be dear. 

And place our trophies where men kneel 
To heaven! — But heaven rebukes my zeal. 
The cause of truth and human Aveal, 

O God above ! 
Transfer it from the sword's appeal 

To peace and love. 

Peace! love! — the cherubim that join 
Their spread wings o'er devotion's shrine ! 
Prayers soiind iu vain, and temples shine, 

Where they are not ; 
The heart alone can make divine 

Religion's spot. 

To incantations dost thou trust. 
And pompous rites in domes august? 
See mouldering stones and metal's rust 

Belie the vaunt. 
That men can bless one pile of dust 

"With chime or chaunt. 

The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man ! 
Thy temples — creeds themselves grow wan ! 
But there 's a dome of nobler span, 

A temple given 
Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban — 

Its space is heaven ! 

Its roof star-pictured nature's ceiling, 
Where, trancing the rapt spirit's feeling. 
And God himself to man revealing. 

The harmonious spheres 
Made music, though unheard their pealing 

By mortal ears. 



Fair stars ! are not your beings pure ? 
Can sin, can death, your worlds obscure ? 
Else why so swell the thoughts at your 

Aspect above ? 
Ye must be heavens that make us suro 

Of heavenly love ! 

And in your harmony sublime 
I read the doom of distant time : 
That man's regenerate soul from crime 

Shall yet be drawn. 
And reason, on his mortal clime. 

Immortal dawn. 

What 's hallowed ground ? 'T is what givea 

birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! — 
Peace ! independence ! truth ! go forth, 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high priesthood shall make earth 
All hallowed ground ! 

Thomas Campbell. 



THE HAPPY LIFE. 

How happy is he born and taught 
That serveth not another's wiU — 
Whose armor is his honest thought, 
And simple truth his utmost skill ! 

Whose passions not his masters are, 
AVhose soul is still prepared for death — 
Untied unto the worldly care 
Of public fame or private breath ! 

Who envies none that chance doth raise. 
Or vice ; who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise , 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

Who hath his life from humors freed, 
Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make accusers great ; 

Who God doth late and early pray 
More of his grace than gifts to lend ; 
And entertains the harmless day 
W^ith a well-chosen book or friend : 



li 



712 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REELECTION. 



This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall — 
Lord of himself, though not of lands ; 
And, having nothing, yet hath all. 

SiK Henkt Wotton. 



MAK 

My God, I heard this day 
That none doth build a stately habitation 
But he that means to dwell therein. 
What house more stately hath there been, 
Or can be, than is man, to whose creation 
All things are in decay ? 

For man is every thing. 

And more : he is a tree, yet bears no fruit ; 

A beast, yet is, or should be, more — 

Keason and speech we only bring. 

Parrots may thank us, if they are not mute — 

They go upon the score. 

Man is all symmetric — 
Full of proportions, one limb to another, 
And all to all the world besides. 
Each part may call the farthest brother ; 
For head with foot hath private amitie. 

And both Avith moons and tides. 

Nothing hath got so farre 
But man hath caught and kept it as his prey. 
His eyes dismount the highest starre ; 
He is in little all the sphere. 
Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they 
Finde their acquaintance there. 

For \is the winds do blow, 
The earth doth rest, heaven move, and foun- 
tains flow. 
Nothing we see but means our good. 
As our delight, or as our treasure ; 
^'he whole is cither our cupboard of food 
Or cabinet of pleasure. 

The starres have us to bed — 
Night draws the curtain, which the sunue 
withdraws. 
Musick and light attend our head ; 
All things unto our flesh are kinde 
In their descent and being — to our minde 
In their ascent and cause. 



Each thing is full of dutie : 
Waters united are our navigation — 
Distinguished, our habitation ; 
Below, our drink — above, our meat ; 
Both are our cleanlinesse. Hath one such 
beautie ? 

Then how are all things neai ! 

More servants wait on man 
Than he '11 take notice of. In every path 
He treads down that which doth befriend 

him 
When sicknesse makes him pale and wan. 
O mightie love ! Man is one world, and hath 
Another to attend him. 



Since then, my God, thou hast 
So brave a palace built, oh dwell in it, 
That it may dwell with thee at last! 
Till then afford us so much wit 
That, as the world serves us, w^e may serve 
thee. 
And both thy servants be. 

George IIebbert. 



HEAVENLY WISDOM. 

On happy is the man who hears 
Instruction's warning voice. 

And who celestial wisdom makes 
His early, only choice ; 

For she has treasures greater far 

Than east or west unfold. 
And her reward is more secure 

Than is the gain of gold. 

In her right hand she holds to view 

A length of happy years ; 
And in her left the prize of fame 

And honor bright aj^pears. 

She guides the young, with innocence, 
In pleasure's path to tread ; 

A crown of glory she bestows 
Upon the hoary head. 



ODE. 



713 



According as her labors rise, 

So her rewards increase ; 
Her -ways are ways of pleasantness, 

And all her paths are peace. 

John Logan. 



SEED-TIME A:N^D HARVEST. 

As o'er his furrowed fields, which lie 
Beneath a coldly-dropping sky, 
Yet chill with winter's melted snow. 
The husbandman goes forth to sow : 

Thus, freedom, on the bitter blast 
The ventures of thy seed we cast, 
And trust to warmer sun and rain 
To swell the germ, and fill the grain. 

Who calls thy glorious service hard ? 
Who deems it not its own reward ? 
Who, for its trials, counts it less 
A cause of praise and thankfulness ? 

It may not be our lot to wield 
The sickle in the ripened field ; 
Nor ours to hear, on summer eves. 
The reaper's song among the sheaves ; 

Yet where our duty's task is wrought 
In unison with God's great thought, 
The near and future blend in one. 
And whatsoe'er is willed is done ! 

And ours the grateful service whence 
Comes, day by day, the recompense — 
The hope, the trust, the purpose staid. 
The fountain, and the noonday shade. 

And were this life the utmost span. 
The only end and aim of man. 
Better the toil of fields like these 
Than waking dream and slothful ease. 

Our life, though falling like our grain, 
Like that revives and springs again ; 
And early called, how blest are they 
Who wait in heaven their harvest-day! 
John Geeenleaf "Wiiittiee. 

94 



ODE. 

IXTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RKC'OI.- 
LECTI0X3 OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. 

I. 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and 

stream. 
The earth, and every common sight. 
To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light — 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore : 
Turn wheresoe'er I may. 
By night or day. 
The things which I have seen, I now can see 
no moi'e. 



The rainbow comes and goes. 
And lovely is the rose ; 
The moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 
Waters on a starry night 
Are beautiful and fair ; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go. 
That there hath passed away a glory from 
the earth. 



ISTow, while the birds thus sing a joyous song. 
And while the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief; 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 

And I again am strong. 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the 

steep — 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong. 
I hear the eclioes through the mountains 

throng ; 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay ; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity ; 
And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday; — 
Thou child of joy. 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou 
happy shepherd boy ! 



7M 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Ye blessed creatures ! I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you iu your jubilee; 
My heart is at your festival, 
My head hath its coronal — 
Tlie fulness of your bliss, 1 feel, I feel it all. 
Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 
While earth herself is adorning, 

This sweet May-morning, 
And the children are culling 

On every side, 
In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines 
warm. 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm — 
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 
— But there 's a tree, of many one, 
A single field which I have looked upon — 
Both of them speak of something that is gone ; 
The pansy at my feet 
Doth the same tale repeat. 
Whither is lied the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 



Oui- birth is but a sleep and a forgetting ; 
The soul that rises with us, our life's star. 

Hath had elsewhere its setting. 
And Cometh from afar. 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness. 
But trailing clouds of glory, do we come 

From God, who is our home. 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy ; 
But he beholds the light, and whence it 
flows — 

He sees it in his joy. 
The youth, who daily farther from the east 

Must travel, still is nature's priest. 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 



Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own. 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind; 
And, even with something of a mother's mind. 



And no unworthy aim. 

The homely nurse doth all she can 
To make her foster-child, her inmate man, 

Forget the glories he hath known, 
And that imperial jialace whence he came. 



Behold the child among his new-born blisses— 
A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! 
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies. 
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 
With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 
Some fragment from his dream of human life. 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art — 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mourning or a funeral — 
And this hath now his heart. 

And unto this he frames his song. 
Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife : 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside, 

And with new joy and pride 
The little actor cons another part — 
Filling from time to time his "humorous 

stage " 
With all the persons, down to palsied age. 
That life brings with her in her equipage ; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 



Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul's immensity ! 
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage ! thou eye among the blind. 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep. 
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind! — 
Mighty prophet ! Seer blest, 
On whom those truths do rest 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ! 
Thou over whom thy immortality 
Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, 
A presence which is not to be put by ! . 
Thou Httle child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou pro- 

. voke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 



ODE. 



'7ir> 



Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly 

freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 



Oh joy ! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live, 
That nature yet remembers 
"What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth 

breed 
Perpetual benediction : not, indeed. 
For that which is most worthy to be blest — 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of childliood, whether busy or at rest, 
With new^-fledged hope still Huttering in his 
breast — ■ 
jSTot for these I jaise 
The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings. 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 
High instincts, before which our naortal nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised — 
But for those first affections, 
Those shadowy recollections, 
"Which, be they what they may, 
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day. 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing. 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to 
make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal silence : truths that wake, 

To perish never — 
Wliicli neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 

Nor man nor boy, 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence in a season of calm weather. 
Though inland far we be. 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither — 
Can in a moment travel thither. 
And see the children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty w\aters rolling ever- 
more. 



Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! 

And let the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound ! 
We in thought will join your throng. 

Ye that pipe and ye that play, 

Ye that through your hearts to-day 

Feel the gladness of the May ! 
What though the radiance which was once so 

bright 
Be now for ever taken from my sight, 

Tliough nothing can bring back the 
hour 
Of si^lendor in the grass, of glory in the 
iiower — 

We will grieve not, rather find 

Strength in w-hat remains behind : 

In the primal sympathy 

"Which, having been, must ever be ; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 

Out of human suffering ; 

In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 



And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and 

groves. 
Forebode not any severing of our loves . 
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 
I only have relinquished one delight 
To live beneath your more habitual sway. 
I love the brooks which down their channels 

fret. 
Even more than when I tripped lightly as 

they ; 
The innocent brightness of a new-born day 

Is lovely yet ; 
The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms ai'o 

won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears — 
To me the meanest flower that blows can 

give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 
William Wordswortu. 



716 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE LIGHT OF STARS. 

The night is come, but not too soon ; 

And sinking silently, 
All silently, the little moon 

Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in Ccartli or heaven, 

But the cold light of stars ; 
And the first watch of night is given 

To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love ? 

The star of love and dreams ? 
Oh no ! from that blue tent above 

A hero's armor gleams. 

And earnest thoughts within me rise, 

"When I behold afar, 
Suspended in the evening skies, 

The shield of that red star. 

star of strength ! I see thee stand 
And smile upon my pain ; 

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand. 
And I am strong again. 

Within my breast there is no light, 
But the cold light of stars : 

1 give the first watch of the night 

To the red planet Mars. 

The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast. 
Serene, and resolute, and still. 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art. 
That readest this brief psalm. 

As one by one thy hopes depart. 
Be I'esolute and calm 1 

Oh fear not in a world like this, 
And thou shalt know ere long, 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer and be strong. 

IIenky Wadsworth Longfellow. 



NIGHT. 

"When I survey the bright 

Celestial sphere, 
So rich with jewels hung that night 

Doth like an Ethiop bride appear, 

My soul her wings doth spread, 

And heavenward flies, 
The Almighty's mysteries to read 

In the large volume of the skies. 

For the bright firmament 

Shoots forth no flame 
So silent but is eloquent 

In speaking the Creator's name ; 

No unregarded star 

Contracts its light 
Into so small character, 

Eemoved far from our human sight 

But if we steadfast look, 

We shall discern 
In it, as in some holy book. 

How man may heavenly knowledge 
learn. 

It tells the conqueror 

That far-stretched power. 
Which his proud dangers traffic for. 

Is but the triumph of an hour — 

That from the farthest north 

Some nation may. 
Yet undiscovered, issue forth. 

And o'er his new-got conquest sway ! 

Some nation, yet shut in 

AVith hills of ice, 
May be let out to scourge his sin. 

Till they shall equal him in vice. 

And they likewise shall 

Their ruin have ; 
For as yourselves your empires fall. 

And every kingdom hath a grave. 



DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 



Ill 



There those celestial fires, 

Though seeming mute, 
The fullacy of our desires 

And all the pride of life confute. 

For they have -watched since first 

The world had birth, 
And found sin in itself accurst, 

And nothing permanent on earth. 
"William IIabington. 



THE STUEDY ROCK, FOR ALL HIS 
. STRENGTH. 

The sturdy rock, for all his strength, 
By raging seas is rent in twain ; 

The marble stone is pierced at lengtli 
With little drops of drizzling rain ; 

The ox doth yield unto the yoke ; 

The steel obey'th the hammer stroke ; 

The stately stag, that seems so stout, 
By yelping hounds at bay is set ; 

The swiftest bird that flies about 
Is caught at length in fowler's net ; 

The greatest fish in deepest brook 

Is soon deceived with subtle hook ; 

Yea ! man himself, unto whose will 
All things are bounden to obey. 

For all his wit and worthy skill 
Doth fade at length, and fall away : 

There is no thing but time doth waste — 

The heavens, the earth consume at last. 

But virtue sits trivmiphing still 
Upon the throne of glorious fame ; 

Though spiteful death man's body kill, 
Yet hurts he not his virtuous name. 

By life or death, whatso betides. 

The state of virtue never slides. 

Anonymous. 



VIRTUE. 

Sweet day, so cool, so cahn, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky ! 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; 
For thou must die. 



Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye ! 
Thy root is ever in its grave — 

And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
A box where sweets compacted lie ! 
TIjy music shows ye have your closes. 
And all must die. 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul. 
Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
But, though the whole world turn to coal, 
Then chiefly lives. 

George IIerbxbt. 



DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 

The glories of our birth and state 

Are shadows, not substartial things ; 
There is no armor against fate — 
Death lays his icy hands on kings ; 
Sceptre and crown 
Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field. 
And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield— 
They tame but one another still ; 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate, 
And must give up their murmuring breath, 
When they, pale captives, creep to death. 

The garlands wither, on your brow — 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
Upon death's purple altar, now. 
See where the victor victim bleeds I 
All heads must come 
To the cold tomb — . 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweetj and blossom in the dust. 

James SniRLET. 



718 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE HERMIT. 

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is 

still, 
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness 

prove, 
When nought but the torrent is heard on the 

hill. 
And nought but the nightingale's song in the 

grove, 
'T was thus, by the cave of the mountain afar. 
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit 

began ; 
No more with himself or with nature at war, 
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man : 

"Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and 
woe, 

Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fail ? 

For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 

And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. 

But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay — 

Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee 
to mourn ! 

Oh soothe him, whose pleasures like thine 
pass away ! 

Full quickly they pass — but they never re- 
turn. 

" Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, 

The moon, half extinguished, her crescent dis- 
plays; 

But lately I marked when majestic on high 

She shone, and the planets were lost in her 
blaze. 

Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pur- 
sue 

The path that conducts thee to splendor again! 

But man's faded glory what change shall re- 
new? 

Ah, fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! 

" 'T is night, and the landscape is lovely no 
more. 

I mourn — but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for 
you ; 

For morn is approaching your charms to re- 
store. 

Perfumed with fresh fi-agrance, and glittering 
with dew. 



Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn- — 
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save ; 
But when shall spring visit the mouldering 

urn? 
Oh when shall day dawn on the night of the 

grave ? 

" 'T was thus, by the glare of false science be- 
trayed, 

That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind, 

My thoughts wont to roam from shade on- 
ward to shade, 

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 

' Oh pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, 

' Thy creature, who fain would not wander 
from thee! 

Lo, humbled in dust, T relinquish my pride ; 

From doubt and from darkness thou only 
canst free.' . 

"And darkness and doubt are now flying 
away ; 

No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. 

So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray. 

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 

See truth, love, and mercy in triumph de- 
scending. 

And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! 

On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses 
are blending, 

And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." 

James Bbattie. 



THE STRIFE. 

The wish that of the living Avhole 

No life may fail beyond the grave- 
Derives it not from what we have 

The likest God within the soul? 

Are God and nature then at strife. 

That nature lends such evil dreams? 
So careful of the type she seems, 

So careless of the single life, 

That I, considering every where 

Her secret meaning in her deeds, 
And finding that of fifty seeds 

She often brings but one to bear— 



THE SLEEP, 



719 



I falter where I firmly trod ; 

And, falling with my weight of cares 
Upon the great world's altar-stairs, 

That slope through darkness up to God, 

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, 
And gather di:.st and chaff, and call 
To what I fecx is Lord of all, 

And faintly trust the larger hope. 

Alfred Tenntsok. 



TUE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT. 

LoiTD he sang the psalm of David! 
He, a negro and enslaved — 
Sang of Israel's victory. 
Sang of Zion, bright and free. 

In that hour, when night is calmest, 
Sang he from the Ilebi'ew psalmist, 
In a voice so sweet and clear 
That I could not choose but hear — 

Songs of triumpn, and ascriptions, 
Such as reached the swart Egyptians, 
"When upon the Red Sea coast 
Perished Pharaoh and his host. 

And the voice of his devotion 
Filled my soul with strange emotion ; 
For its tones by turns were glad, 
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. 

Paul and Silas, in their prison, 
Sang of Clirist, the Lord arisen; 
And an earthquake's arm of miglit 
Broke their dungeon-gates at night. 

But, alas ! what holy angel 
Brings the slave this glad evangel? 
And what earthquake's arm of might 
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night ? 

Henky Wadswokth Longfellow. 



THE SLEEP. 

Of all the thouguts of God that are 
Borne inward unto souls afar. 

Along the Psalmist's music deep. 
Now tell me if that any is 
For gift or grace surpassing this — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

What would we give to our beloved ? 
The hero's heart, to be unmoved — 

The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep — 
The senate's shout to patriot's vows — 
The monarch's crown, to light the brows? 

"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

What do we give to our beloved ? 
A little faith, all undisproved — 

A little dust to overweep — 
And bitter memories, to make 
The whole earth blasted for our sake ! — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

" Sleep soft, beloved ! " we sometimes say, 
But have no tune to charm away 

Sad dreams that through the eyelids crcej 
But never doleful dream again 
Shall break the happy slumber when 

"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

O earth, so full of dreary noises! 
men, with wailing in your voices! 
O delved gold the wallers' heap ! 

strife, O curse, that o'er it fall ! 
God makes a silence through you all, 

" And giveth his beloved sleep." 

His dew drops mutely on the liill ; 
His cloud above it saileth still. 

Though on its slope men toil and reap. 
More softly than the dew is shed. 
Or cloud is floated overhead, 

"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

Yea ! men may wonder while they scan 
A living, thinking, feeling man 

In such a rest his heart to keep ; 
But angels say — and through the word 

1 ween their blessed smile is heard — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 



20 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



For me, my heart that erst did go 
Most hke a tired child at a sho\y, 

That sees through tears tlie juggler's leap, 
"Would now its wearied vision close — 
"Would, childlike, on His love repose 

"Who " giveth His beloved sleep." 

And friends ! — dear freinds ! — when it shall he 
That this low breath is gone from me, 

And round my bier ye come to weep, 
Let one, most loving of you all, 
Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall" — 

" He giveth His beloved sleep." 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



AN OLD POET TO SLEEP. 

No god to mortals oftener descends 
Than thou, O sleep ! yet thee the sad alone 
Invoke, and gratefully thy gift receive. 
Some thou invitest to explore the sands 
Left by Pactolus ; some to climb up higher. 
"Where points ambition to the pomps of war ; 
Others thou watchest while they tighten 

obes 
"Which law throws round them loose, and 

they meanwhile 
Wink at a judge, and he tlie wink returns. 
Apart sit fewer, whom thou lovest more 
And leadest where unruffled rivers flow. 
Or azure lakes 'neath azure skies expand. 
These have no wider wishes, and no fears. 
Unless a fear, in turning to molest 
The silent, solitary, stately swan. 
Disdaining the garrulity of groves 
Nor seeking shelter there from sun or storm. 

Me also hast thou led among such scenes. 
Gentlest of gods ! and age appeared far off 
"While thou wast standing close above the 

couch, 
And whispered'st, in whisper not unheard, 
" I now depart from thee, but leave behind 
My own twin-brother, friendly as myself, 
"Who soon shall take my place ; men call him 

Death. 
Thou hearest me, nor tremblest, as most do ; 
In sooth, why shouldst thou ? "What man hast 

thou wronged 
By deed or word? Few dare ask tliis within." 



There was a pause; then suddenly said 
Sleep, 
"He whom I named approacheth, so fare- 
well." 

Walter Savage Landor. 



SLEEP. 



Weep ye no more, sad fountains ! 

What need you flow so fast ? 
Look how the snowy mountains 
Heaven's sun doth gently waste. 
But my sun's heavenly eyes 
View not your weeping, 
That now hes sleeping 
Softly, now softly lies 
Sleeping, 

Sleep is a reconciling — 

A rest that peace begets ; 
Doth not the sun rise smiling. 
When fair at even he sets ? 
Pest you then, rest, sad eyes — 
Melt not in weeping. 
While she lies sleeping 
Softly, now softly lies 
Sleeping. 

JonN DOWLAND, 



LIFE AND DEATH. 

Life and Death are sisters fair ; 
Yes, they are a lovely pair. 
Life is sung in joyous song ; 
While men do her sister wrong, 
Calling her severe and stern. 
While her heart for them doth burn ; 
Weave, then, weave a grateful wreath, 
For the sisters Life and Death. 

If fair Life her sister lost, 
On a boundless ocean tost. 
She would rove in great unrest. 
Missing that warm loving breast. 
Now, when scared by wild alarms, 
She can seek her sister's arms — 
To that tender bosom flee. 
Sink to sleep in ecstasy. 

Anontmoits. 



THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. 



"721 



THE GEEENWOOD SHRIFT. 

OuTSTKETOHED beneath tlie leafy shade 
Of Windsor forest's deepest glade, 

A dying woman lay; 
Three little children round her stood, 
And there went up from the greenwood 

A woful wail that day. 

" O mother ! " was the mingled cry, 
" mother, mother ! do not die. 

And leave us all alone." 
•'My blessed babes! " she tried to say — 
But the faint accents died away 

In a low sobbing moan. 

And then, life struggling hard with death. 
And fast and strong she drew her breath, 

And up she raised her head; 
And, peering through the deep wood maze 
With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze, 

'*• Will she not come ? " she said. 

Just then, the parting boughs between, 
A little maid's light form Avas seen, 

All breathless with her speed ; 
And, following close, a man came on 
(A portly man to look upon). 

Who led a panting steed. 

" Mother ! " the little maiden cried. 
Or e'er she reached the woman's side, 

And kissed her clay-cold cheek — 
" I have not idled in the town. 
But long went wandering up and down, 

The minister to seek. 

" Tliey told me here, they told me there — 
I think they mocked me everywhere ; 

And when I found his home, 
And begged him on my bended knee 
To bring his book and come with me. 

Mother ! he would not come. 

" I told him how you dying lay. 
And could not go in peace away 

Without the minister ; 
I begged him, for dear Christ his sake, 
But oh ! my heart was fit to break — 

Mother ! he would not stir. 
95 



" So, though my tears were blinding me, 
I ran back, fast as fast could be. 

To come again to you ; 
And here — close by — this squire I met. 
Who asked (so mild) what made me fret ; 

And when I told him true, — 

" ' I will go with you, child,' he said, 
' God sends me to this dying bed ' — 

Mother, he 's here, hard by." 
While thus the little maiden spoke. 
The man, his back against an oak. 

Looked on with glistening eye. 

The bridle on his neck hung free, 

With quivering flank and trembling knee, 

Pressed close his bonny bay ; 
A statelier man — a statelier steed — 
Never on greensward paced, I rede, 

Than those stood there that day. 

So, while the little maiden spoke. 
The man, his back against an oak. 

Looked on with glistening eye 
And folded arms, and in his look 
Something tliat, like a sermon-book, 

Preached— "j^Vll is vanity." 

But when the dying woman's face 
Turned toward him with a wishful gaze, 

He stepped to where she lay ; 
And, kneeling down, bent over her, 
Saying — "I am a minister, 

My sister ! let us pray." 

And well, withouten book or stole 
(God's words were printed on his soul !) 

Into the dying eai' 
He breathed, as 't were an angel's strain, 
The things that unto life pertain. 

And death's dark shadows clear. 

He spoke of sinners' lost estate. 
In Christ renewed, regenerate — 

Of God's most blest decree. 
That not a single soul should die 
Who turns repentant, with the cry 

" Be merciful to me." 

He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil, 
Endured but for a little while 



722 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



In patience, faith, and love — 
Sure, in God's own good time, to be 
Esclianged for an eternity 

Of happiness above. 

Then — as the spirit ebbed away — 
He raised his hands and eyes to pray 

That peaceful it might pass ; 
And then — the orphans' sobs alone 
"Were heard, and they knelt, every one, 

Close round on the green grass. 

Such was the sight their wandering eyes 
Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise. 

Who reined their coursers back. 
Just as they found the long astray. 
Who, in the heat of chase that day, 

Had wandered from their track. 

But each man reined his pawing steed, 
And lighted down, as if agreed, 

In silence at his side ; 
And there, uncovered all, they stood — 
It was a wholesome sight and good 

That day for mortal pride. 

For of the noblest of the land 

Was that deep-hushed, bare-headed band ; 

And, central in the ring. 
By that dead pauper on the ground. 
Her ragged orphans clinging round. 

Knelt their anointed king. 

EoBEET and Caeoune Southey. 



KING DEATH. 

King Death was a rare old fellow ! 

He sat where no sun could shine ; 
And he lifted his hand so yellow. 

And poured out his coal-black wine. 

Hurrah! for the coal-hlach loine ! 

There came to him many a maiden 
Whose eyes had forgot to shine. 

And widows, with grief o'erladen. 
For a draught of his sleepy wine. 

Hurrah ! for the coal-hlaclc icine ! 

The scholar left all his learning ; 

The poet his fancied woes ; 
And the beauty her bloom returning, 

Like hfe to the fading rose. 

Hurrah ! for the coal-llaclc icine ! 



All came to tlie rai-e old fellow. 

Who laughed till his eyes dropped brine, 
As he gave them his hand so yellow. 
And pledged them in Death's black wine. 
Hurrah! Hurrali ! 
Hurrah ! for the coal-llaclc wine ! 
Baeey Cornwall. 



A PSALM OF LIFE. 

WHAT THE HEAET OF THE TOTTNO MAN SAID 
TO THE PSALMIST. 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
" Life is but an empty dream ! " 

For the soul is dead that slumbers. 
And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
Is our destined end or way ; 

But to act, that each to morrow 
Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and time is fleeting. 
And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like inulfled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle, 

Be a liero in the strife ! 

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ! 

Let the dead past bury its dead ! 
Act — act in the living present ! 

Heart within, and God overhead ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime. 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time — 

Footprints that perhaps another. 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 



AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. 



723 



Let us, then, be up and doing. 

With a heart for any fate ; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Leai'n to labor and to wait. 

Henet Wadsworth Longfellow. 



. "MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD." 

My days among the dead are passed ; 

Around me I behold, 
Where'er these casual eyes are cast, 

The mighty minds of old ; 
My never-failing friends are they, 
"With whom I converse day by day. 

"With them I take delight in weal. 

And seek relief in woe ; 
And while I understand and feel 

How much to them I owe. 
My cheeks have often been bedewed 
With tears of thoughtful grati^^de. 

My thoughts are with the dead ; with tliem 

I live in long-past years ; 
Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 

Partake their hopes and fears. 
And from their lessons seek and find 
Instruction with an humble mind. 

My hopes are with the dead ; anon 

My place with them will be, 
And I with them shall travel on 

Through all futurity : 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
That will nut perish in the dust. 

EOBEET SOFTnET. 



SIT DOWN", SAD SOUL. 

Sit down, sad soul, and count 

The moments flying ; 
Come — tell the sweet amount 

That 's lost by sighing ! 
How many smiles ? — a score ? 
Then laugh, and count no more ; 
Tor day is dying ! 

Lie down, sad soul, and sleep, 
And no more measure 

The flight of time, nor weep 
The loss of leisure ; 



But here, by this lone stream. 
Lie down with us, and dream 
Of starry treasure I 

We dream ; do thou the same ; 

We love — for ever ; 
We laugh, yet few we shame — 

The gentle never. 
Stay, then, tiU sorrow dies ; 
Then — hope and happy skies 
Are thine for ever ! 

BaEKT CORNT^AIU 



LIFE. 



We are born ; we laugh ; we weep ; 

We love; we droop; we die! 
Ah ! wherefore do we laugh or weep ? 

Why do we live or die? 
Who knows that seei*et deep ? 

Alas, not I ! 

Why doth the violet spring 

Unseen by human eye ? 
Why do the radiant seasons bring 

Sweet thoughts that quickly fly ? 
Why do our fond hearts cling 

To things that die ? 

We toil — through pain and wrong ; 

We fight — and fly ; 
We love ; we lose ; and then, ere long, 

Stone-dead we lie. 
life! is all thy song 

"Endure and— die?" 

Baeet Coenwall. 



AN" ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. 

How sweet it were, if without feeble frigid, 
Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, 
An angel came to us, and we could bear 
To see him issue from the silent air 
At evening in our room, and bend on ours 
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers 
News of dear friends, and children who have 

never 
Been dead indeed — as we shall know for- 
ever. 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Alas! we think not what we daily see 
Ahout our hearths — angels, that are to be, 
Or may be if they will, and we prepare 
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air ; 
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart 

sings 
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings. 

Leigh Hunt. 



KIXG ROBERT OF SICILY. 

RoBEET of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 

And Valmond, emperor of AUemaine, 

Apparelled in magnificent attire, 

With retinue of many a knight and squire. 

On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 

And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. 

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 

Repeated, like a burden or refrain. 

He caught the words, " Deposuit potentes 

De sede, et exaltavit Tiumiles ; '''' 

And slowly lifting up his kingly head, 

He to a learned clerk beside him said, 

" What mean these words? " the clerk made 

answer meet, 
" He has put down the mighty fi'om their seat. 
And has exalted them of low degree." 
Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 
" 'T is well that such seditious words are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; 
For unto priests and people be it known. 
There is no power can push me from my 

throne ! " 
And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 

When he awoke, it was already night ; 

The church was empty, and there was no 
light, 

Save where the lamps that glimmered, few 
and faint. 

Lighted a little space before some saint. 

He started fi'om his seat and gazed around. 

But saw no living thing and heard no sound. 

lie groped towai'ds the door, but it was 
locked; 

He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, 

And uttered awful threatenings and com- 
plaints, 

And imprecations upon men and saints. 



The sounds reechoed fi-om the roof and walls 
As if dead priests were laughing in their 
stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from without 
The tumult of the knocking and the shout. 
And thinking thieves were in the house of 

pi-ayer. 
Came with his lantern, asking, "Who i« 

there ? " 
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely 

said, 
" Open : 't is I, the king ! Art thou afraid ? " 
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a 

curse, 
"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! "" 
Turned the great key and flung the portal 

wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride. 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak. 
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor 

spoke. 
But leaped into the blackness of the night, 
And vanished like a spectre from his sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
And Valmond, emperor of AUemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire. 
Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with 

mire. 
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, 
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; 
Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in 

his rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page. 
And hurried up the broad and sounding 

stair, 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with breathless 

speed ; 
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, 
Until at last he reached the banquet-room, 
Blazing with light, and breathing with per- 
fume. 
Thei-e on the dais sat another king. 
Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring. 
King Robert's self in features, form, and 

height, 
But all transfigured with angelic light ! 
It was an angel; and his presence there 
With a divine effulgence filled the air, 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 



'725 



An exaltation, piercing tlie disguise, 
riiougli none the hidden angel recognize. 



A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, 
Tlie throneless monarch on the angel gazed. 
Who met his looks of anger and surprise 
With the divine compassion of his eyes; 
Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st 

thou here ? " 
To which King Robert answered with a sneer, 
" I am the king, and come to claim my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " 
And suddenly, at these audacious words. 
Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their 

swords ; 
The angel answered, with unrufBed brow, 
" Nay, not the king, but the king's jester ; 

thou 
Henceforth shall wear the bells and scalloped 

cape. 
And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape : 
Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 
And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! " 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and 

prayers. 
They thrust him from the hall and down the 

stairs ; 
A group of tittering pages ran before. 
And as they opened wide the folding-door, 
His heart failed, for he heard, with strange 

alarms, 
The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, 
And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 
With the mock plaudits of "Long live the 

king ! " 
Xext morning, waking with the day's first 

beam, 
He said within himself, " It was a dream ! " 
But the straw rustled as he turned his head, 
There were the cap and bells beside his bed ; 
Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, 
Close by, the steeds were champing in their 

stalls. 
And in the corner, a revolting shape. 
Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched 

ape. 
It was no dream ; the world he loved so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! 



Days came and went; and now returned 

again 
To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; 
Under the angel's governance benign 
The happy island danced with corn and wine. 
And deep within the mountain's burning 

breast 
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 
Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, 
Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 
Dressed in the motley garb that jesters wear. 
With looks bewildered and a vacant stare. 
Close shaven above the ears, as monks are 

shorn. 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to 

scorn. 
His only friend the ape, his only food 
What others left, — he still was unsubdued. 
And when the angel met him on his way, 
And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, 
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 
The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, 
" Art thou the king ? " the passion of his woe 
Burst from him in resistless overflow. 
And lifting high his forehead, he would fling 
The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the 

king ! " 

Almost three years were ended ; when there 

came 
Ambassadors of great repute and name 
From Yahnond, emperor of Alleraaine, 
Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane 
By letter summoned them forthwith to come 
On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 
The angel with great joy received his guests, 
And gave them presents of embroidered vests. 
And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, 
And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 
Then he departed with them o'er the sea 
Into the lovely land of Italy, 
Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 
By tlie mere passing of that cavalcade, 
With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and 

the stir 
Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, 
Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, 
Ilis cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind. 
The solemn ape demurely perched behind. 



(26 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



King Eobert rode, making Imge merriment 
In all the country' towns tLrough which they 
w ent. 

The pope received them with great pomp, 

and blare 
Of bannered trumpets, ou Saint Peter's square, 
Giving his benediction and embrace, 
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
"While with congratulations and with prayers 
He entertained the angel unawares, 
Robert, the jester, burstmg through the 

crowd. 
Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud : 
" I am the king ! Look and behold in me 
liobert, your brother, king of Sicily ! 
This man, who wears my semblance to your 

eyes, 
Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 
Do you not know me ? does no voice within 
Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? " 
The pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 
Gazed at the angel's countenance serene ; 
The emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange 

sport 
To keep a madman for thy fool at court ! " 
And the poor, baiBed jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the holy week went by. 
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; 
The presence of an angel, with its light, 
Before the sun rose, made the city bright, 
And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, 
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 
Even the jester, on his bed of straw. 
With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor 

saw ; 
He felt within a power unfelt before. 
And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, 
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 
Sweep through the silent air, ascending 

heavenward. 

And now the visit ending, and once more 
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, 
Homeward the angel journeyed, and again 
Tlic land was made resplendent with his train. 
Flashing along the towns of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from there by sea. 
And when once more within Palermo's wall, 
And, seated on his throne in his great hall, 



He heard the Angelas from convent towere, 
As if the better world conversed with ours. 
He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, 
And with a gesture bade the rest retire • 
And when they were alone, the angel sai-^ 
"Art thou the king? " Then bowing dovvji 

his head, 
King Robert crossed both hands upon his 

breast. 
And meekly answered him : " Thouknowest 

best! 
My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence, 
And in some cloister's school of penitence, 
Across those stones that pave the way to 

heaven 
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven ! " 
The angel smiled, and from his radiant face 
A holy light illumined all the place, 
And through the open window, loud and 

clear, 
They heard the monks chant in the chapel 

near. 
Above the stir and tumult of the street : 
" He has put down the mighty from their seat. 
And has exalted them of low degree! " 
And through the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single string : 
"I am an angel, and thou art the king! " 

King Robert, who was standing near the 

throne. 
Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! 
But all apparelled as in days of old, 
With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; 
And when his courtiers came they found him 

there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent 

prayer. 

Hesey "Wadswortu Longfellow. 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

Whex the hours of day are numbered, 
And the voices of the night 

Wake the better soul that slumbered 
To a holy, calm delight — 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the parlor wall; 



SONNET. 



727 



Then tho forms of the departed 

Enter at tho open door — 
The beloved ones, tho true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more : 

He, fhe young and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife. 

By the road-side fell and perished, 
"Weary with the march of life ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
"Who tho cross of suffering bore. 

Folded their pale hands so meekly. 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the being beauteous 
"Who unto my youth was given, 

More than all things else to love me. 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

"Wich a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine. 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine; 

And she sits and gazes at me 
"With those deep and tender eyes, 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like. 
Looking downward from the skies. 

"Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended. 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely, 

All my fears are laid aside, 
If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died ! 
IIekey Wadswokth Longfellow. 



LIFE. 



Like to the falling of a star. 

Or as the flights of eagles are, 

Or like tho fresh spring's gaudy hue, 

Or silver drops of morning dew. 

Or like a wind that chafes the flood, 

Or bubbles which on water stood — 



E'en such is man, whose borrowed light 
Is straight called in, and paid to-night. 
The wind blows out, tlie bubble dies, 
The spring entombed in autumn lies, 
The dew dries up, the star is shot, 
The flight is past — and man forgot! 

Henet King, 



MAN'S MOETALITY. 

Like as tho damask rose you see, 
Or like the blossom on the tree, 
Or like the dainty flower in May, 
Or like the morning of tho day. 
Or like the sun, or like the shade. 
Or like the gourd which Jonas had — 
E'en such is man ; — whoso thread is spun. 
Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. — 
The rose withers, the blossom blasteth. 
The flower fades, the morning hasteth. 
The sun sets, tho shadow flies. 
The gourd consumes — and man he dies ! 

Like to tho grass that 's newly sprung, 
Or like a tale that 's new begun. 
Or like tho bird that 's here to-day, 
Or like the pearled dew of May, 
Or like an hour, or like a span, 
Or like tho singing of a swan — 
E'en such is man ; — who lives by breath. 
Is here, now there, in life and death. — 
The grass withers, tho tale is ended, 
The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended. 
The hour is short, the span is long, 
Tho swan 's near death — man's hfe is done ! 
Simon Wastell. 



SONNET. 

Of mortal glory, O soon darkened ray ! 
winged joys of man, more swift than wind ! 
O fond desires, which in our fancies stray ! 
trait'rous hopes, which do our judgment? 

blind ! 
Lo, in a flash that light is gone away 
"Which dazzle did each eye, delight each 

mind. 
And, with that sun from whence it came 

combined. 



728 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Now makes more radiaut heaven's eternal 

day. 
Let beauty now bedew lier cbeeks witli tears; 
Let widowed music only roar and groan ; 
Poor virtue, get thee wings and mount the 

' spheres, 
For dwelHng-place on earth for thee is none! 
Death hath thy temple razed, love's empire 

foiled, 
The world of honor, worth, and sweetness 

spoiled. 

William DRUiisiOND. 



LINES ON" A SKELETON. 

Behold this ruin ! — 'T was a skull 
Once of ethereal spirit fuU ! 
This narrow cell was hfa's retreat ; 
This space was thought's mysterious seat ; 
What beauteous pictures filled this spot — 
AThat dreams of pleasures long forgot ! 
Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear. 
Has left one trace of record here. 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 

Once shone the briglit and busy eye ; 

But start not at the dismal void ; — 

If social love that eye employed. 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed, 

But through the dew of kindness beamed. 

That eye shall be forever bright 

When stars and suns have lost their light. 

Here, in this silent cavern, hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue : 

If falsehood's honey it disdained. 

And, where it could not praise, was 

chained — 
If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, 
Yet gentle concord never broke. 
That tuneful tongue shall plead for thee 
When death unveils eternity. 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine. 
Or with its envied rubies shine? 
To hew the rock or wear the gem 
Can nothing now avail to them ; 
But if the page of truth they sought, 
Or comfort to the mourner brought. 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than aU that waits on wealth or fame. 



Avails it whether bare or shod 
These feet the path of duty trod? 
If from the bowers of joy they fled 
To soothe affliction's humble bed — 
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned. 
And home to virtue's lap returned, 
Those feet with angel's wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky. 

Anonymous. 



HYMN OF THE CHUECH-YARD. 

An me ! this is a sad and silent city : 

Let me walk softly o'er it, and survey 
Its grassy streets with melancholy pity! 
Where are its children ? where their glee- 
some play ? 
Alas ! their cradled rest is cold and deep, — 
Their playthings are thrown by, and they 
asleep. 

This is pale beauty's bower; but where the 
beautiful. 
Whom I have seen come forth at evening's 
hours, 

Leading their aged friends, with feelings du- 
tiful, 
Amid the wreaths of spring to gather flow- 
ers? 

Alas ! no flowers are here but flowers ol 
death. 

And tliose who once were sweetest sleep be- 
neath. 

This is a populous place ; but where the 
bustling — 
The crowded buyers of the noisy mart — 
The lookers-on, — the snowy garments rust- 
ling, — 
The money-changers, and the men of art ; 
Business, alas ! hath stopped in mid career. 
And none are anxious to resume it here. 

This is the home of grandeur : where are 

they,— 
The rich, the great, the glorious, and tlie 

wise? 
Where are the trappings of the proud, the 

gfiy,— 

The gaudy guise of human butterflies ? 



THANATOPSIS. 



"729 



ill lowly lies each lofty brow, 

e green sod dizens their beauty now. 



a place of refuge and repose. 

ro ai'C the poor, the old, the weary 

wight, 

orued, the humble, and the man of 

woes, 

) wept for morn, and sighed again for 

night ? 
f sighs at last have ceased, and here they 

sleep 
ie their scorners, and forget to weep. 



is a place of gloom : w^here are the 
gloomy ? 
he gloomy are not citizens of death — 
n'oach and look, where the long grass is 

plumy ; 
See them above ! they are not found be- 
neath ! 
r tliese low denizens, with artful wiles, 
tture, in flowers, contrives her mimic 
smiles. 



This is a place of sorrow : friends have met 
And mingled tears o'er those who answered 
not; 

And where are they whose eyelids then were 
wet? 
Alas ! their griefs, tlieir tears, are all for- 
got; 

They, too, are landed in this silent city, 

"Where there is neither love, nor tears, nor 
pity. 



This is a place of fear : the firmest eye 

Hath quailed to see its shadowy dreariness ; 
But Christian hope, and heavenly prospects 
high, 
And earthly cares, and nature's weariness. 
Have made the timid pilgrim cease to fear. 
And long to end his painful journey here. 

John Bethune. 



96 



THANATOPSIS. 

To him who in the love of nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty; and she ghdes 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness ero he is aware. "When 

thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow 

house. 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at 

heart — 
Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
To nature's teachings, while from all around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 
Comes a still voice : Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In aU his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid witli many 

tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist 
Thy image. Eai-th, that nom-ished thee, shall 

claim 
Thy growth to be resolved to earth again ; 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix for ever with the elements — 
To be a brother to the insensible rock. 
And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The 

oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy 

mould. 

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou vrish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie 

down 
With patriarchs of the infant world — with 

kings, 
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the 

good — 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 



ToO 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the 

vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between — 
The venerable woods — rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured 

round all, 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that 

tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
Of morning; traverse Barca's desert sands, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
"Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no soimd 
Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are 

there ; 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
"When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall 

leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall 

come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long 

train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who 

goes 
In the full strength of years — matron, and 

maid. 
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed 

man, — 
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side 
By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to 
join 
The innumerable caravan which moves 
To that mysterious realm where each shall 
take 



His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night 
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustair 

and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy gra 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his co 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dref 

"William Cullen Brta 



OVER THE RI"7ER. 

OvEK the river they beckon to me. 
Loved ones who 've crossed to the fai 
side, 
The gleam of their snowy robes I see, 
But their voices are lost in the dai 
tide. 
There 's one with ringlets of sunny gold 
And eyes the reflection of heaven's 
blue ; 
He crossed in the twilight gray and coL 
And the pale mist hid him from n 
view. 
"We saw not the angels who met him th 
The gates of the city we could not se 
Over the river, over the river. 
My brother stands waiting to welcom> 

Over the river the boatman pale 

Carried another, the household pet ; 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, 

Darling Minnie ! I see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; 
"We felt it glide from the silver sands, 

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark ; 
"We know she is safe on the farther side, 

"Where all the ransomed and angels be : 
Over the river, the mystic river, 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 

For none return from those quiet shores, 
"Who cross with the boatman cold and 
pale; 
We hear the dip of the golden oars. 

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail ; 
And lo ! they have passed from our yearning 
hearts. 
They cross the stream and are gone for 
aye. 
We may not sunder the vail apart 



ELEGY AVRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 



731 



That hides from our vision the gates of 
day; 
We only know that their barlis no more 

May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; 
i'ot somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, 

They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 

And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold 

Is flushing river and hill and shore, 
[ sliall one day stand by the water cold. 

And list for the sound of the boatman's 
oar; 
[ shall watcii for a gleam of the flapping sail, 

I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, 
[ shall pass from sight with the boatman 
pale, 

To the better shore of the spirit land. 
[ shall know the loved who have gone before, 

And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, 
When over the river, the peaceftd river, 

The angel of death shall carry me. 

Nancy Amelia 'WooDBirRT Peiest. 



THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. 

Sweet is the scene when virtue dies ! 

When sinks a righteous soul to rest. 
How mUdly beam the closing eyes, 

IIow gently heaves tli' expiring breast ! 

So fades a siimmer cloud away. 

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er, 

So gently shuts the eye of day, 
So dies a wave along the shore. 

Triumphant smiles the victor brow. 

Fanned by some angel's purple wing ; — 

"Where is, O grave ! thy victory now ? 
And where, insidious death ! thy sting? 

Fai-ewell conflicting joys and fears, 

Where light and shade alternate dwell ! 

How bright tli' unchanging morn appears ;- 
Farewell, inconstant world, farewell ! 

Its duty done, — as sinks the day. 
Light from its load the spirit flies ; 

While heaven and earth combine to say 
"Sweet is the scene when virtue dies! " 

Anna L^titia B.vbsaxtld. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY 
OHUROH-YAED. 

The curfew tolls the kneU of parting day ; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary 
way, 

And leaves the world to darkness and to 



Now fades the glimmering landscape on the 
sight, 
And all the air a solemn stUlness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his di'oning 
flight. 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 

Save tbat from yonder ivy-mantled tower. 
The moping owl does to the moon com- 
plain 

Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's 
shade. 
Where heaves the turf in many a moulder- 
ing heap. 
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid. 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn. 
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw 
built shed, 
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn. 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly 
bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall 
burn, 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield. 
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe ha? 
broke ; 
How jocund did they di-ive their team a-field ! 
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy 
stroke ! 



13-2 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



Let not ambition mock tbeii* useful toil, 
Tlieii- homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 
And all that beai;ty, all that wealth e'er 
gave, 

Await alike th' inevitable hour. — 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault. 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies 
raise, 
Where through the long-drawn aisle and 
fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of 
praise. 

Can storied ui-n, or animated bust. 
Back to its mansion call the tleeting breath ? 

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial 
fire — 
Hands, that the rod of empire might have 
swayed. 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ; 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Eich with the spoils of time, did ne'er un- 
roll ; 

Chill penury repressed their noble rage. 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless 
breast, 
The little tyrant of his flelds withstood — 
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest, 
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's 
blood. 

Th' applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their liistory in a nation's eyes. 



Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 
Their growing virtues, but their crimes 
confined — 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a 
throne. 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to 
hide. 

To quench the blushes of ingenious shame, 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 

"With incense kindled at the muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 

Along the cool, sequestered vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to protect, 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculn- 
ture decked. 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlet- 
tered muse. 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look be- 
hind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies. 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries. 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted flres. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored 
dead. 

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate — 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say : 
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of 
dawn 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD, 



Tsa 



" There at the foot of yonder nodding beach, 

That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so 

high, 

llis listless length at noontide would he 

stretch. 

And pore upon the brook that babbles 

by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in 
scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies he wonld 
rove — 
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one for- 
lorn, 
Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless 
love. 

' One morn I missed him on the customed 
hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favorite 
tree ; 
Another came — nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was 
he; 



" The next, with dirges due in sad array, 
Slow through the church-way path we saw 
him borne: — 
Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the 
lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged 
thorn." 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown ; 

Fair science frowned not on his humble birth. 
And melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul since'-i- 
Heaven did a recompense as largely stud ; 

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, 
He gained from heaven ('t was all he 
wished) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or di'aw his frailties from their dread 
abode — 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 

TuOMAS Gkat. 



PART X. 

POEMS OP RELIGION. 



Oh ! what is man, great Maker of mankind ! 

That Thou to him so great respect dost bear — 
That Thou adoni'st him with so bright a mind, 

Mak'st him a king, and even an angel's peer ? 

Oh ! what a lively life, what heavenly power, 
"What spreading virtue, what a sparkling fire! 

How great, how plentiful, how rich a dower 
Dost Thou within this dying flesh inspire ! 

Thou leav'st Thy print in other works of Thine, 
But Thj' whole image Thou in man hast writ; 

There cannot be a creature more divine. 
Except, like Thee, it should be infinite. 

But it exceeds man's thought, to think how high 
God hath raised man, since God a man became; 

The angels do admii-e this mystery, 
And are astonished when they view the same. 

Nor hath he given these blessings for a day. 
Nor made them on the body's life depend : 

The soul, though made in time, survives for aye ; 
And though it hath beginning, sees no end. 

SiE JouN Davies. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



DARKNESS IS THINNING. 

Darkness is thinning; shadows are retreat- 
ing: 
Morning and light are coming in their heanty. 
Suppliant seek we, with an earnest outcry, 
God tlie Almighty ! 

So that our Master, having mercy on us. 
May repel languor, may hestow salvation. 
Granting us, Father, of Thy loving kindness 
Glory hereafter ! 

This of His mercy, ever hlessed Godhead, 
Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit, give us — 
Whom through the wide world celehrate for 
ever 

Blessing and glory ! 

St. Geegort the Great. (Latin.) 
Translation of John Mason Neale. 



RULES AND LESSONS. 

"Whex first thy eies unveU, give thy soul leave 
To do the like ; our bodies but forerun 
The spirit's duty. True hearts spread and 

heave 
Unto tlicir God, as flow'rs do to the sun. 
Give Him thy first thoughts then; so shalt 

thou keep 
Him company all day, and in Him sleep. 

Yet never sleep the sun up. Prayer shou'd 
Dawn with the day. There are set, awful 

hours 
'Twixt heaven and us. The manna was not 

good 
After sun-rising ; far-day sullies flowres. 
97 



Rise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glat, 
And heaven's gate opens when this world's 
is shut. 

Walk with thy fellow-ci*eatures ; note the 

hush 
And whispers amongst them. There 's not a 

spring 
Or leafe but hath his morning hymn. Each 

bush 
And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not 

sing? 
leave tliy cares and follies ! go this way. 
And thou art sure to prosper all the day. 

Serve God before the world ; let Him not go. 
Until thou hast a blessiug; then reslgne 
The whole unto Him ; and remember who 
Prevail'd by wrestling ere the sim did shine. 
Poure oyle upon the stones; weep for thy 

sin ; 
Then journey on, and have an eie to heav'n. 

Mornings are mysteries : the first world's 

youth, 
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud 
Shroud in their births; the crown of life, 

light, truth 
Is stil'd their starre, the stone, and hidden 

food. 
Three blessings wait upon them, two of 

which 
Should move: they make us holy, happy, 

rich. 

When the world 's up, and ev'ry swarm 

abroad. 
Keep thou thy temper; mix not with each 

clay; 



733 



POEMS OF, RELIGION. 



Dispatch necessities ; life liatli a load 
Wliicli must be carri'cl on, and safely may. 
Tot keep those cares -without thee, let the 

heart 
Be God's alone, and choose the better part. 

Through all tliy actions, counsels, and dis- 
course, 
Let mildness and religion guide thee out ; 
If truth be thine, what needs a brutish force ? 
But what 's not good and just ne'er go about. 
Wrong not thy conscience for a rotten stick ; 
That gain is dreadful which makes spirits sick. 

To God, thy countrie, and thy friend be true ; 
If priest and people change, keep thou thy 

ground. 
Who sels religion is a Judas Jew ; 
And, oathes once broke, the soul cannot be 

sound. 
The perjurer 's a devil let loose : what can 
Tie up his hands, that dares mock God and 

man? 

Seek not the same steps with the crowd ; 

stick thou 
To thy sure trot ; a constant, humble mind 
Is both his own joy, and his Maker's too ; 
Let folly dust it on, or lag behind. 
A. sweet self-privacy in a right soul 
Out-runs the earth, and lines the utmost pole. 

To all that seek thee bear an open heart ; 
Make not thy breast a labyrinth or trap ; 
If tryals come, this wil make good thy part. 
For honesty is safe, come what can hap ; 
It is the good man's feast, the prince of 

flowres. 
Which thrives in storms, and smels best after 

showres. 

Seal not thy eyes up from the poor ; but give 
Proportion to their merits, and thy purse : 
Thou may'st in rags a mighty prince relieve. 
Who, when thy sins call for 't, can fence a 

curse. 
Thou shalt not lose one mite. Though waters 

stray, 
The bread we cast returns in fraughts one day. 

Spend not an hour so as to weep another, 
For tears arc not thine own ; if thou giv'st 
words, 



Dash not with them thy friend, nor heav'n ; 

O smother 
A viperous thought ; some syllables are 

swords. 
Un bitted tongues are in their penance double ; 
They shame their owners, and their hearers 

trouble. 

Injure not modest bloud, while spirits rise 
In judgement against lewdness ; that 's base 

wit, 
That voyds but filth and stench. Hast thou 

no prize 
But sickness or infection ? stifle it. 
Who makes his jest of sins, must be at least, 
If not a very devill, worse than beast. 

Yet fly no friend, if he be such indeed; 
But meet to quench his longings and thy 

thirst ; 
x\llow your joyes religion; that done, speed, 
And bring the same man back thou wert at 

first. 
Who so returns not, cannot pray aright, 
But shuts his door, and leaves God out all 

night. 

To heighten thy devotions, and keep low 
All mutinous thoughts, what business e'r 

thou hast. 
Observe God in His works ; here fountains 

flow, 
Birds sing, beasts feed, fish leap, and th' 

earth stands fast ; 
Above are restles motions, running lights, 
"Vast circling azure, giddy clouds, days, nights. 

When seasons change, then lay before thine 

eys 
Ilis wondrous method; mark the various 

scenes 
In heav'n ; hail, thunder, rainbows, snow, 

and ice, 
Calmes, tempests, light, and darknes by His 

means. 
Thou canst not misse His praise : each tree, 

herb, flowre, 
Are shadows of His Avisedome and His pow'r. 

To meales when thou doest come, give Him 

the praise 
Whose arm supply'd thee ; take what may 

suffice, 



THE rniLOSOPHER'S DEVOTION. 



739 



And then be thankful; O aclmu-e Ilis ways 
Who fils the world's unempty'd granaries ! 
A thankless feeder is a theif, his feast 
A very robbery, and himself no guest. 

Iligh-noon thus past, thy time decays ; provide 
Thee other thoughts ; away with friends and 

mirth ; 
Tlie sun now stoops, and hastes his beams to 

hide 
Under the dark and melancholy earth. 
All but preludes thy end. Thou art the man 
Whose rise, height, and descent is but a span. 

Yet, set as he doth, and 'tis well. Have all 
Thy beams home with thee ; trim thy lamp, 

buy oyl, 
And then set forth : Avho is thus drest, the foil 
Furthers his glory, and gives death the foyl. 
Man is a summer's day ; whose youth and fire 
Cool to a glorious evening, and expire. 

When night comes, list thy deeds ; make plain 

the way 
'Twixt heaven and thee ; block it not with 

delays ; 
But perfect all before thou sleep'st : then say, 
" Ther's one sun more strung on my bead of 

days." 
What's good score up for joy; the bad well 

scann'd 
Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's 

hand. 

Thy accounts thus made, spend in the grave 

one houre 
Before thy time ; be not a stranger there. 
Where thou may'st sleep whole ages ; life's 

poor flow'r 
Lasts not a night sometimes. Bad spirits fear 
This conversation ; but the good man lyes 
Intombed many days before he dyes. 

Being laid, and di-est for sleep, close not thy 

cies 
Up with thy curtains; give thy soul the wing 
In some good thoughts ; so when the day shall 

rise, 
And thou unrak'st thy fire, those sparks will 

bring 
N"ew flames; besides where these lodge, vain 

heats mourn 
And die ; that bush, where God is, shall not 

burn. 



When thy nap 's ovei", stir thy fire, unrake 
In that dead age ; one beam i' th' dark outvies 
Two in the day ; then from the damps and ake 
Of- night shut up thy leaves ; be chaste ; God 

prys 
Through thickest nights; though then the 

sun be far. 
Do thou the works of day, and rise a star. 

Briefly, doe as thou would'st be done unto, 
Love God, and love thy neighbour; watch, 

and pray. 
These are the words and works of life ; this do, 
And live; who doth not thus, hath lost 

heav'n's way. 
O lose it not! look up, wilt change those 

lights 
Tor chains of darknes and eternal nights ? 
Henbt Vaughan. 



THE PHILOSOPHEE'S DEVOTION. 

Sing aloud ! His praise rehearse. 
Who hath made the universe. 
He the boundless heavens has spread, 
All the vital orbs has kned ; 
He that on Olympus high 
Tends His flock with watchful eye ; 
And this eye has multiplied 
Midst each flock for to reside. 
Thus, as round about they stray, 
Touchcth each with outstretched ray . 
Nimbly they hold on their way, 
Shaping out their night and day. . 
Never slack they ; none respires. 
Dancing round their central tires. 

In due order as they move. 
Echoes sweet be gently drove 
Through heaven's vast hoUowness, 
Which unto all comers press — 
Music, that the heart of Jove 
Cloves to joy and sportful love, 
Fills the listening sailor's ears, 
Riding on the wandering spheres. 
Neither speech nor language is 
Where their voice is not transmiss. 

God is good, is wise, is strong — 
Witness all the creature-throng — 
Is confessed by every tongue. 
All things back from whence they sprung, 



'740 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



As the thankful rivers pny 
What they borrowed of the sea. 

Now, myself, I do resign ; 
Take me whole, I all am Thine. 
Save me, God ! from self-desire, 
Death's pit, dark hell's raging fire 
Envy, hatred, vengeance, ire ; 
Let not lust iiiy soul bemire. 

Quit from these, Thy praise I '11 sing, 
Loudly sweep the trembling string. 
Bear a part, wisdom's sons. 
Freed from vain religions! 
Lo ! from far I you salute. 
Sweetly warbling on my lute — 
India, Egypt, Araby, 
Asia, Greece, and Tartary, 
Carmel-tracts and Lebanon, 
"With the Mountains of the Moon, 
From whence muddy Nile doth run ; 
Or, wherever else you won. 
Breathing in one vital air — 
One wo are though distant far. 

Kise at once — let 's sacrifice ! 
Odors sweet perfume the skies. 
See how heavenly liglitning fires 
Hearts inflamed with high aspires ; 
All the substance of our souls 
Up in clouds of incense rolls! 
Leave we nothing to ourselves 
Save a voice — what need we else ? 
Or a hand to wear and tire 
On the thankful lute or lyre. 

Sing aloud ! His praise rehearse 
Who hath made the universe. 

Henet More. 



THE SPIEIT-LAND. 

Father ! Thy wonders do not singly stand. 
Nor far removed where feet Lave seldom 

strayed ; 
Around us ever lies the enchanted land. 
In marvels rich to Thine own sons displayed ; 
In finding Thee are all things round us found ; 
In losing Thee are all things lost beside ; 
Ears have we, but in vain strange voices 

sound ; 
And to our eyes the vision is denied ; 
We wander in the country far remote, 



Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell ; 
Or on the records of past greatness dote, 
And for a buried soul the living sell ; 
While on our path bewildered falls the night 
That ne'er returns us to the fields of light. 

Jones Vert. 



THE ELDER SCRIPTURE. 

There is a book, who runs may read. 
Which heavenly truth imparts. 

And all the lore its scholars need — 
Pure eyes and loving hearts. 

The works of God, above, below, 

Within us, and around. 
Are pages in that book, to show 

How God himself is found. 

The glorious sky, embracing all, 

Is like the Father's love ; 
Wherewith encompassed, great and small 

In peace and order move. 

The dew of heaven is like His grace : 

It steals in sUence down ; 
But where it lights, the favored place 

By richest fruits is known. 

Two worlds are ours : 'tis only sin 

Forbids us to descry 
The mystic heaven and earth within. 

Plain as the earth and sky. 

Thou who hast given me eyes to see 

And love this sight so fair. 
Give me a heart to find out Thee 

And read Thee every where. 

JOHX Keble. 



FOR NEW-YEAR'S DAY. 
Eternal source of every joy ! 
Well may Thy praise our lips employ. 
While in Thy temple we appear 
Whose goodness crowns the circling year. 

While as the wheels of nature roll. 
Thy hand supports the steady pole ; 
The sun is taught by Thee to rise. 
And darkness when to veil the skies. 

The fiowery spring at Thy command 
Embalms the air, and paints the land ; 
The summer rays with vigor shine 
To raise the corn, and cheer the vine. 



AN ODE. 



^4i 



Thy hand in autumn nchly pours 
Through all our coasts redundant stores ; 
And winters, softened by Thy care, 
No more a face of liorror wear. 

Seasons, and months, and weeks, and days 
Demand successive songs of praise ; 
Still be the cheerful homage paid 
With opening light and evening shade. 

Here in Thy house shall incense rise, 
As circling Sabbaths bless our eyes ; 
Still will we make Thy mercies known, 
Around Thy board, and round our own. 

Oh may our more harmonious tongues 
In worlds unknown pursue the songs : 
And in those brighter courts adore 
Where days and years revolve no more. 

Philip Doddkidgb. 



"MAEK THE SOFT-FALLING SNOW." 

Maek the soft-falling snow, 
And the diffusive rain : 
To heaven from whence it fell, 
It turns not back again. 

But waters earth 

Through every pore, 

And calls forth all 

Its secret store. 

Arrayed in beauteous green 
The hills and valleys shine. 
And man and beast is fed 
By Providence divine ; 

The harvest bows 

Its golden ears. 

The copious seed 

Of future years. 

•' So," saith the God of grace, 
" My gospel shall descend — 
Almighty to effect 
The purpose I intend ; 



Millions of souls 
Shall feel its power. 
And bear it down 
To millions more. 

"Joy shall begin your march, 
And peace protect your ways, 
While all the mountains round 
Echo melodious praise ; 

The vocal groves 

Shall sing the God, 

And every tree 

Consenting nod." 

Philip Doddeidos. 



AN ODE. 

The spacious firmament on high. 

With all the blue ethereal sky. 

And spangled heavens, a shining frame. 

Their great original proclaim. 

The unwearied sun, from day to day, 

Does his creator's power display. 

And publishes to every land 

The work of an almighty hand. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
And nightly, to the listening earth, 
Eepeats the story of her birth ; 
Whilst all the stars that round her burn. 
And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round the dark, terrestrial ball ? 
What though nor real voice nor sound 
Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 
In reason's ear tliey all rejoice, 
And utter foi'th a glorious voice, 
Forever singing as they shine 
" The hand that made us is divine ! " 

Joseph Addison. 



T42 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



EVENING. 

Father ! by Thy love and power 
Comes again the evening hour : 
Light has vanished, labors cease, 
Weary creatures rest in peace. 
Thou, whose genial dews distil 

On the lowliest weed that grows, 
Father ! guard our couch from ill, 

Lull Thy children to repose. 
"We to Thee ourselves resign. 
Let our latest thoughts be Thine. 



Saviour ! to Thy Father bear 
This our feeble evening prayer ; 
Thou hast seen how oft to-day 
We, hke sheep, have gone astray: 
Worldly thoughts, and thoughts of pride, 

Wishes to Thy cross untrue, 
Secret faults, and undescried. 

Meet Thy spirit-piercing view, 
Blessed Saviour ! yet through Thee 
Pray that these may pardoned be. 

Holy Spirit! breath of balm ! 
Fall on us in evening's calm : 
Yet awhile before we sleep 
We with Thee will vigils keep ; 
Lead us on our sins to muse, 

Give us truest penitence. 
Then the love of God infuse, 

Breathing humble confidence ; 
Melt our spirits, mould our will. 
Soften, strengthen, comfort still ! 

Blessed Trinity ! be near 

Through the hours of darkness drear ; 

When the help of man is far. 

Ye more clearly present are : 

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

Watch o'er our defenceless head, 
Let your angels' guardian host, 

Keep all evil from oar bed, 
Till the flood of morning's rays 
Wake us to a song of praise. 

Anonymous. 



IN A CLEAR STAREY NIGHT. 

A HYMN AND PEATEE FOE TUE USE OF 
BELIEVERS. 

Lord ! when those glorious lights I see 
With which Thou hast adorned the skies, 
Observing how they moved be, 
And how their splendor fills mine eyes, 

Methinks it is too large a grace, 
But that Thy love ordained it so — 
That creatures in so high a place 
Should servants be to man below. 



The meanest lamp now shining there 
In size and lustre doth exceed 
The noblest of Thy creatures here, 
And of our friendship hath no need. 

Yet these upon mankind attend, 
For secret aid, or pubhc light ; 
And from the world's exti-emest end 
Repair unto us every night. 



Oh ! had that stamp been undefaoed 
Which first on us Thy hand had set, 
How highly should we have been graced, 
Since we are so much honored yet. 

Good God, for what but for the sake 
Of Thy beloved and only Son, 
Who did on Him our nature take. 
Were these exceeding favors done ! 



As we by Him have honored been, 
Let us to Him due honors give ; 
Let His uprightness hide our sin, 
And let us worth from Him receive. 

Yea, so let us by grace improve 
What Thou by nature doth bestow, 
That to Thy dwelling-place above 
We may be raised from below, 

Gboege WrrnKB. 



ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 



743 



ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NA- 
TIVITY. 



This is the month, and this the happy morn, 
"Wherein the Son of heaven's etei*nal king. 
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born. 
Our great redemption from above did bring — 
For so the holy sages once did sing — 

That He our deadly forfeit should release. 
And with His Father work -us a perpetual 
peace. 



That glorious form, that light misufferable. 
And that for-beaming blaze of majesty 
Wherewith He wont at heaven's high council- 
table 
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, 
He laid aside ; and here with us to be 

Forsook the courts of everlasting day. 
And chose with us a darksome house of mor- 
tal clay. 



Say, heavenly muse! shall not thy sacred 

vein 
Aiford a present to the infant God? 
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn 

strain, 
To welcome Him to this His new abode — 
Now while the heaven, by the sun's team 

untrod, 
Hath took no print of the approaching 

light, 
And all the spangled host keep watch in 

squadrons bright? 



See how from far upon the eastern road 
The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet ! 
.Oh ! run prevent them with thy humble ode, 
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ; 
Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet. 

And join thy voice unto the angel choir. 
From out His secret altar touched with hal- 
lowed fire. 



THE HYMN. 



It was the winter wild 

While the heaven-born child 
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger 
lies — 

Nature, in awe to Ilim, 

Had doffed her gaudy trim, 

With her great master so to sympathize ; 

It was no season then for her 

To wanton with the sun, her lusty para- 
mour. 



Only with speeches fair 
She woos the gentle air 

To hide her guilty front with innocent 
snow, 
And on her naked shame, 
Pollute with sinful blame, 

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw — 
Confounded that her maker's eyes 
Should look so near upon her foul deformi- 
ties. 



But He, her fears to cease, 

Sent down the meek-eyed peace ; 
She, crowned with olive green, came softly 
sliding 

Down through the turning sphere, 

His ready harbinger. 

With turtle wing the amorous clouds divid- 
ing; 

And waving wide her myrtle wand. 

She strikes a universal peace through sea 
and land. 

IV. 

Nor war, or battle's sound. 
Was heard the world around — 

The idle spear and shield were high up 

hung; 
The hooked chariot stood 
Unstained with hostile blood ; 

The trumpet spake not to the armed 

throng ; 
And kings sat still with awful eye, 
As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord 

was by. 



1U 



POEMS OF RELIGION 



But peaceful was the night 
Wherein the prince of light 

His reign of peace upon the earth began ; 
The winds, with wonder whist, 
Smoothly the waters kissed, 

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean. 
Who now hath quite forgot to rave. 
While birds of calm sit brooding on the 
charmed wave. 



The stars with deep amaze 
Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, 

Bending one way their precious influence ; 
And will not take their flight 
For all the morning light. 

Or Lucifer that often warned them thence ; 
But in their glimmering orbs did glow 
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid 
them go. 

TII. 

And though the shady gloom 
Had given day her room, 

The sun himself withheld his wonted 
speed, 
And hid his head for shame. 
As his inferior flame 

The new-enlightened world no more should 
need; 
He saw a greater sun appear 
Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree 
could bear. 



The shepherds on the lawn, 
Or e'er the point of dawn. 

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row ; 
Full little thought they then 
That the mighty Pan 

Was kindly come to live with them below ; 
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep. 
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy 
keep. 



When such music sweet 
Their hearts and ears did greet 

As never was by mortal finger strook- 
Divinely-warbled voice 



Answering the stringed noise. 

As all their souls in blissful rapture took ; 
The air, such pleasure loath to lose, 
With thousand echoes still prolongs each 
heavenly close. 



Nature, that heard such sound 
Beneath the hollow round 

Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, 
Now was almost won 
To think her part was done; 

And that her reign had here its last ful- 
filling ; 
She knew such harmony alone 
Could hold all heaven and earth in happier 
union. 



At last surrounds their sight 
A globe of circular light. 
That with long beams the shamefaced night 
arrayed ; 
The helmed cherubim 
And sworded seraphim 

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings 
displayed. 
Harping in loud and solemn choir, 
With unexpressive notes, to heaven's new- 
born heir — 



Such music (as 't is said) 
Befoi'e was never made, 

But when of old the sons of morning sung. 
While the Creator great 
His constellations set. 

And the well-balanced world on hinges 
hung. 
And cast the dark foundations deep, 
And bid the weltering waves their oozy 
channel keep. 



Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! 
Once bless our human ears, 

If ye have power to touch our senses so ; 
And let your silver chime 
Move in melodious time, 

And let the bass of heaven's deep organ 
blow ; 



ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY, 



745 



And with your ninefold harmony 
Make up full consort to the angelic sym- 
phony. 

XIV. 

For if such holy song 
luwi-ap our fancy long, 

Time will run hack, and fetch the age of 
gold; 
And speckled vanity 
"Will sicken soon and die. 

And leprous sin will melt from earthly 
mould ; 
And hell itself will pass away, 
And leave her dolorous mansions to the 
peering day. 



Yea, truth and justice then 
Will down return to men, 

Orbed in a rainbow ; and, like glories 

wearing, 
Mercy will sit between. 
Throned in celestial sheen. 

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down 

steering ; 
And heaven, as at some festival, 
Will open wide the gates of her high palace 

hall. 

XVI. 

But wisest fate says No — 
This must not yet be so ; 

The babe yet lies in smiling infancy 
That on the bitter cross 
Must redeem our loss, 

So both Himself and us to glorify. 
Yet first to those ye chained in sleep 
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder 
through the deep, 

XVII, 

With such a horrid clang 
As on Mount Sinai rang. 

While the red fire and smouldering clouds 
out-brake ; 
The aged earth, aghast 
With terror of that blast, 

Shall from the surface to the centre shake — 
When, at the world's last session. 
The dreadful judge in middle air shall spread 
his throne. 

98 



XVIII. 

And then at last our bliss 
Full and perfect is — 

But now begins ; for from this happy day 
The old dragon, under ground 
In straiter limits bound, 

Not half so far casts his usurped sway, 
And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, 
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 

XIX. 

The oracles are dumb ; 
ISTo voice or hideous hum 
Euns through the arched roof in words 
deceiving ; 
Apollo from his shrine 
Can no more divine. 
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos 
leaving; 
No nightly trance, or breathed spell. 
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the pro- 
phetic ceU. 



The lonely mountains o'er. 
And the resoiinding shore, 

A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; 
From haunted spring, and dale 
Edged with poplar pale, 

The parting genius is with sighing sent ; 
With fiower-inwoven tresses torn 
The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled 
thickets mourn. 



In consecrated earth. 
And on the holy hearth. 

The lars and lemures moan with midnight 
plaint ; 
In urns and altars round 
A drear and dying souiid 

Aftrights the flamens at their service 
quaint ; 
And the chill marble seems to sweat. 
While each peculiar power foregoes his 
wonted seat. 

xxn. 

Peor and Baiilim 
Forsake their temples dim. 
With that twiee-battered god of Palestine ; 



746 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



And mooned Asbtarotb, 
Heaven's queen and mother both, 

Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 
The Lybic Hamraon shrinks bis horn — 
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded 
Tbammuz mourn. 



And sullen Moloch fled, 
Hath left in shadows dread 

His burning idol all of blackest hue ; 
In vain, with cymbals' ring, 
They call the grisly king. 

In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 
The brutish gods of Nile as fast — 
Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis — haste. 



Nor is Osiris seen 

In Memphian grove or green. 

Trampling the unshowered grass with 
lowings loud ; 

Nor can be be at rest 

"Within his sacred chest — 

Nought but profoundest hell can be his 
shroud ; 

In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark, 

The sable-stoled sorcei'ers bear his wor- 
shipped ark. 



He feels from Juda's land 
The dreaded infant's hand — 

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; 
Nor all the gods beside 
Longer dare abide — 

Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine ; 
Our babe, to show His God-head true, ■ 
Can in His swaddling bands control the 
damned crew. 



So, when the sun in bed. 
Curtained with cloudy red. 

Pillows bis chin upon an orient wave. 
The flocking shadows pale 
Troop to the infernal jail — 

Each fettered ghost slips to his several 
grave ; 



And the yellow-skirted fays 
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their 
moon-loved maze. 

XXVII. 

But see the virgin blest 
Hath laid her babe to rest — • 
Time is our tedious song should here have 
ending ; 
Heaven's youngest teemed star 
Hath fixed her polished car. 

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp 
attending; 
And all about the courtly stable 
Bright-harnessed angels sit in order service- 
able. 

John Miltok. 



EPIPHANY. 

Brightest and best of the sons of the morn- 
ing, 
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine 
aid! 
Star of the east, the horizon adorning, 
Guide where our infant Eedeemer is laid ! 

Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining; 

Low lies His bed with the beasts of tho 
stall ; 
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining — 

Maker, and monarch, and Saviour of all. 

Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion. 

Odors of Edom, and ofl:erings divine — 
Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the 
ocean — 
Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the 
mine ? 

Vainly we offer each ample oblation, 
Vainly with gold would His favor secure ; 

Richer by far is the heart's adoration, 
Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. 

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, 
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine 
aid! 
Star of the east, the horizon adorning, 
Guide where our infant Eedeemer is laid ! 
Eeginald Hebek. 



MESSIAH, 



in 



MESSIAH. 

Ye nymphs of Sol^-raa ! begin the song — 
To heavenly themes sublhner strains belong. 
The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades, 
The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids, 
Delight no more — thou my voice inspire 
Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire ! 

Eapt into future times the bard begun : 
A virgin shall conceive — a virgin bear a son ! 
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise 
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the 

skies ! 
The ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move, 
And on its top descends the mystic dove. 
Ye heavens ! from high the dewy nectar pour. 
And iu soft silence shed the kindly shower I 
The sick and weak the healing plant shall 

aid — 
From storm a shelter, and from heat a shade. 
All crimes shall cease, and ancient frauds 

shall fail ; 
Returning justice lift aloft her scale, 
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend, 
And white-robed innocence from heaven de- 
scend. 
Swift fly the years, and rise the expected 

morn ! 
Oh spring to light ! auspicious babe, be born ! 
See, nature hastes her earliest wreaths to 

bring, 
With all the incense of the breathing spring! 
See lofty Lebanon his head advance ; 
See nodding forests on the mountains dance ; 
See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise, 
And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies! 
Hark ! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers : 
Prepare the way ! a God, a God appears ! 
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply — 
The rocks proclaim the approaching deity. 
Lo, earth receives Him from the bending 

skies ! 
Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys, 

rise ! 
With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay! 
Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give 

way! 
The Saviour comes ! by ancient bards fore- 
told— 
Hear Him, ye deaf; and all ye blind, behold ! 



He from thick films shall purge the visual 

And on the sightless eyeball pour the day ; 
'T is He the obstructed paths of sound shall 

clear. 
And bid new music charm the unfolding ear ; 
The dumb shall sing; the lame liis crutch 

forego, 
And leap exulting like the bounding roe. 
No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall 

hear — 
From every face He wipes off every tear. 
Iu adamantine chains shall death be bound, 
And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. 
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care. 
Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air, 
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep di- 
rects. 
By day o'ersees them, and by night protecDs; 
The tender lambs He raises in His arms — 
Feeds from His hand, and in His bosom 

warms : 
Thus shaU mankind His guardian care en- 
gage— 
The promised father of the future age. 
No more shall nation against nation rise. 
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes ; 
Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er, 
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more ; 
But useless lances into scythes shall bend. 
And the broad falchion in a plough-share end. 
Then palaces shall rise ; the joyful son 
Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun ; 
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield. 
And the same hand that sowed shall reap the 

field; 
The swain in barren deserts with surprise 
Sees lilies spring and sudden verdure rise ; 
And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds, to hear 
New falls of water murmuring in his ear. 
On rifted /ocks, the dragon's late abodes. 
The green reed trembles, and the bulrush 

nods; 
Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with 

thorn, 
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn ; 
To leafless shrubs the flowery palms succeed, 
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed ; 
The lambs with wolves shall graze the ver- 
dant mead, 
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead ; 



748 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



The steer and lion at one crib shall meet, 
AncI harmless serpents liok the pilgrim's 

feet. 
The smiling infant in his hand shall take 
The crested basiUsk and speckled snake — 
Pleased, the green lustre of the scales survey, 
And with their forked tongue shall innocent- 
ly play. 
Eise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, 

rise ! 
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thine eyes! 
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn ; 
See future sons and daughters, yet unborn. 
In crowding ranks on evei-y side arise, 
Demanding life, impatient for the skies! 
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend, 
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend; 
Sec thy bright altars thro d god with prostrate 

kings. 
And heaped with products of Sabean springs ! 
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow. 
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains 

glow. 
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display. 
And break upon thee in a flood of day ! 
Xo more the rising sun shall gild the morn, 
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn ; 
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays. 
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze, 
O'erflow thy courts; the Light Himself shall 

shine 
Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine! 
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke de- 
cay, 
Eocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; 
But fixed His word. His saving power re- 
mains ; 
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah 
reigns ! 

Albxajvder Pope. 



TWELFTH DAY, OR THE EPIPHANY. 

TuAT so Thy blessed birth, Christ, 
Might through the world be spread about. 
Thy star appeared in the east. 
Whereby the Gentiles found Thee out; 
And offering Thee myi-rh, incense, gold. 
Thy three-fold office did unfold. 



Sweet Jesus, let that star of Thine — 
Thy grace, which guides to find out Thee— 
Within our hearts for ever shine. 
That Thou of us found out mayst be; 
And Thou shalt be our king therefore, 
Our priest and prophet evermore. 

Tears that from true i-epentance drop, 
Instead of myrrh, present will we ; 
For incense we will offer up 
Our prayers and praises unto Thee ; 
And bring for gold each pious deed 
Which doth from saving grace proceed. 

And as those wise men never went 
To visit Herod any more ; 
So, findmg Thee, we will repent 
Our courses followed heretofore ; 
And that we homeward may retire, 
The way by Thee we will inquire. 

Geokge Wither. 



LINES 



ON THE CELEBRATED PICTUEE BY LEOKAEDO DA 
VlJfCI, CALLED THE VIRGIN OF THE EOCKS. 

WniLE young John runs to greet 

The greater infant's feet. 

The mother standing by, with trembling 

passion 
Of devout admiration. 
Beholds the engaging mystic play, and 

pretty adoration ; 
Nor knov.^s as yet the full event 
Of those so low beginnings 
From whence we date our winnings, 
But wonders at the intent 
Of those new rites, and what that strange 

child-worship meant. 
But at her side 
An angel doth abide. 
With such a perfect joy 
As no dim doubts alloy — 
An intuition, 
A glory, an amenity. 
Passing the dark condition 
Of blind humanity, 
As if he surely knew 
All the blest wonders should ensue, 



THE REIGN OF CHRIST ON EARTH. 



749 



Or he had lately left the upper sphere, 
And had read all the sovereign schemes 
and olivine riddles there. 

CnAULES Lamb. 



THE KEIGN OF CHKIST 0^ EARTH. 

Hail to the Lord's anointed — 

Great David's greater Son ! 
Hail, in the time appointed, 

His reign on earth begun ! 
He comes to break oppression, 

To set the captive free. 
To take away transgression, 

And rule in equity. 

He comes with succor speedy 

To those who suffer wrong ; 
To help the poor and needy. 

And bid the weak be strong ; 
To give them songs for sighing, 

Their darkness turn to light, 
"Whose souls, condemned and dying, 

"Were precious in His sight. 

By such sliall He be feared 

"While sun and moon endure — 
Beloved, obeyed, revered ; 

For He shall judge the poor. 
Through changing generations. 

With justice, mercy, truth. 
While stars maintain their stations 

Or moons renew their youth. 

He shall come down like showers 

Upon the fruitful earth, 
And love, joy, hope, like flowers, 

Spring in His path to birth ; 
Before Him, on the mountains, 

Shall peace, the herald, go. 
And righteousness, in fountains. 

From hill to valley flow. 

Arabia's desert-ranger 

To Him shaU bow the knee. 
The Ethiopian stranger 

His glory come to see ; 
"With offerings of devotion 

Ships from the isles shall meet. 
To pour the wealth of ocean 

In tribute at His feet. 



Kings shall fall down before Him, 

And gold and incense bring ; 
All nations shall adore Him, 

His praise all people sing ; 
For He shall have dominion 

O'er river, sea,, and shore. 
Far as the eagle's pinion 

Or dove's light wing can soar. 

For Him shall prayer unceasing, 

And daily vows, ascend — 
His kingdom still increasing, 

A kingdom without end ; 
The mountain dews shall nourish 

A seed in weakness sown. 
Whose fruit shall spread and flourish, 

And shake like Lebanon. 

O'er every foe victorious, 

He on His throne shall rest. 
From age to age more glorious, 

All-blessing and all- blest ; 
The tide of time shall never 

His covenant remove ; 
His name shall stand for ever ; 

That name to us is — love. 

jAiiEs Montgomery. 



"JESUS SHALL EEIGK" 

Jesus shall reign where'er the sun 
Does his successive journeys run,— 
His kingdom spread from shore to shore, 
Till moons shall wax and Avane no more. 

From north to south the princes meet 
To pay their homage at His feet, 
While western empires own their Lord, 
And savage tribes attend His word. 

To Him shall endless prayer be made. 
And endless praises crown His head ; 
His name like sweet perfume shall rise 
With every morning sacrifice. 

People and realms of every tongue 
Dwell on His love with sweetest song, 
And infant voices shall proclaim 
Their early blessings on His name. 

Isaac Watts. 



150 



POEMS OF RELIGION, 



PASSION" SUNDAY. 

The royal banners forward go ; 
The cross sliines forth in mystic glow ; 
"Wliere He in flesh, our flesh who made, 
Our sentence bore, our ransom paid — 

Where deep for us the spear was dyed, 
Life's torrent rushing from His side, 
To wash us in that precious flood 
Where mingled water flowed and blood. 

Fulfilled is all that David told 

In true prophetic song of old : 

Amidst the nations, God, saith he. 

Hath reigned and triumphed from the tree. 

O tree of beauty, tree of light! 
O tree with royal purple dight ! 
Elect on whose triumphal breast 
Those holy limbs should find their rest ! 

On whose dear arras, so widely flung. 
The weight of this world's ransom hung — 
The price of human kind to pay, 
And spoil the spoiler of his prey. 

To Thee, eternal three in one. 
Let homage meet by all be done. 
Whom by the cross Thou dost restore, 
Preserve and govern evermore. Amen, 

Venantius Foktunattj. (Latin.) 
Anonymous Translation. 



GETHSEMANE. 

Jkstjs, while He dwelt below, 
As divine historians say, 

To a place would often go — 
Near to Kedron's brook it lay, 

In this place He loved to be. 

And 't was named Gethsemane. 

'T was a garden, as we read, 

At the foot of Olivet— 
Low, and proper to be made 

The Redeemer's lone retreat ; 
When from noise he would be free. 
Then He sought Gethsemane. 



Thither, by their Master brought, 

His disciples likewise came ; 
There the heavenly truths He taught 

Often set their hearts on flame ; 
Therefore they, as well as He, 
Visited Gethsemane. 

Oft conversing here they sat. 

Or might join with Christ in prayer ; 
Oh ! what blest devotion that, 

When the Lord Himself is there ! 
All things thus did there agree 
To endear Gethsemane. 

Full of love to man's lost race. 

On the conflict much He thought ; 

This He knew the destined place, 
And He loved the sacred spot ; 

Therefore Jesus chose to be 

Often in Gethsemane. 

Came at length the dreadful night; 

Vengeance with its iron rod. 
Stood, and with collected might 

Bruised the harmless Lamb of God ; 
See, my soul, thy Saviour see, 
Prostrate in Gethsemane ! 

View Him in that olive press, 

Wrung with anguish, whelmed with 
blood — 
Hear Him pray in His distress, 

With strong cries and tears, to God : 
Then reflect what sin must be, 
Gazing on Gethsemane. 

Gloomy garden, on thy beds, 
Washed by Kedi-on's water pool. 

Grow most rank and bitter weeds ! 
Think on these, my soul, my soul ! 

Wouldst thou sin's dominion see — 

Call to mind Gethsemane, 

Eden, from each flowery bed. 

Did for man short sweetness breathe : 
Soon, by Satan's counsel led, 

Man wrought sin, and sin wrought death ; 
But of life the healing tree 
Grows in rich Gethsemane. 



WEEPING MARY. 



Tol 



Hither, Lord, Thou didst resort 
Ofttimes with Thy little train ; 

Here wouldst keep Thy private court — 
Oil ! confer that grace again ; 

Lord, resort with worthless me, 

Ofttimes to Gethsemane. 

True, I can't deserve to share 

In a favor so divine ; 
But since sin first fixed Thee there, 

None have greater sins than mine ; 
And to this my woeful plea 
"Witness thou, Gethsemane ! 

Sins against a holy God, 

Sins against His righteous laws. 

Sins against His love. His blood, 
Sins against His name and cause, 

Sins immense as is the sea — 

Hide me, Gethsemane ! 

Saviour, all the stone remove 
From my flinty, frozen heart ! 

Thaw it with the beams of love. 
Pierce it with Thy mercy's dart! 

"Wound the heart that wounded Thee ! 

Break it, in Gethsemane ! 

Joseph Haet. 



GETHSEMANE. 

Go to dark Gethsemane, 

Ye that feel the tempter's power ; 
Your Eedeemer's conflict see, 

"Watch with Plim one bitter hour ; 
Turn not fi-om his griefs away — 
Learn of Jesus Christ to pray ! 

Follow to the judgment-hall — 
Yiew the Lord of life arraigned ! 

Oh tlie wormwood and the gaU ! 
Oh the pangs his soul sustained ! 

Shun not suffering, shame, or loss — 

Learn of Him to bear the cross ! 

Calvary's mournful mountain chmb ; 

There, adoring at His feet, 
Mark that miracle of time — 

Goi.'s own sacrifice complete ! 



"It is finished ! " — ^liear the cry — 
Learn of Jesus Christ to die. 

Early hasten to tlie tomb 

"Where they laid His breathless clay-- 
All is solitude and gloom ; 

"Who hath taken Him away ? 
Christ is risen ! — he meets our eyes! 
Saviour, teach us so to rise ! 

James Montgomekt. 



WEEPING MAPvY. 

Maet to her Saviour's tomb 

Hasted at the early dawn ; 
Spice she brought, and rich perfume — 

But the Lord she loved was gone. 
For a wliile she weeping stood, 

Struck with sorrow and surprise, 
Shedding tears, a plenteous flood — 

For her heart supplied her eyes. 

Jesus, who is always near, 

Though too often imperceived. 
Comes his drooping child to cheer, 

Kindly asking why she grieved. 
Though at first she knew him not — 

When He called her by her name. 
Then her griefs were all forgot, 

For she found He was the same. 

Grief and sighing quickly fled 

When she heard His welcome voice ; 
Just before she thought Him dead, 

Now He bids her heart rejoice. 
What a change His word can make, 

Turning darkness into day ! 
You who weep for Jesus' sake. 

He will wipe your tears away. 

He who came to comfort her 

When she thought her all was lost. 
Will for your relief appear, 

Tiiough you now are tempest-tossed. 
On His word your burden cast. 

On His love your thoughts employ ; 
Weeping for a while may last, 

But the morning brings the joy. 

John Newton. 



7fi? P E M S F 


RELIGION. 


AN EASTER HYMN". 


Consort both harp and lute, and twist a song 
Pleasant and long ! 


Awake, thou Avintry eartli — 


Or since all music is but three parts vied 


Fling off til J sadness ! 


And multiplied. 


Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth 


Oh let thy blessed Spirit bear a part, 


Your ancient gladness ! 


And make up our defects with His sweet art. 


Christ is risen ! 






I got me flowers to strew thy way — 
I got me boughs off many a ti'ee ; 


Wave, woods, your blossoms all — 


Grim death is dead ! 
Ye weeping funeral trees. 


But thou wast up by break of day, 

And broughtst thy sweets along with thee. 


Lift up your head I 




Christ is risen ! 






The sun arising in the east. 


Come, see ! the graves are green ; 


Though he give light, and th' east perfume, 


It is light ; let 's go 


If they should offer to contest 


Where our loved ones rest 


With Thy arising, they presume. 


In hope below ! 




Christ is risen ! 


Can tliere be any day but this. 


All is fresh and new, 


Though many suns to shine endeavor ? 
We count three hundred, but we miss — 


FuU of spring and light ; 
Wintry heart, why wear'st the hue 


There is but one, and that one ever. 


Of sleep and night ? 


Geokge Herbeet. 


Christ is risen ! 
Leave thy cares beneath. 




HYMN. 


Leave thy worldly love ! 


Begin the better life 


From my lips in their defilement. 


With God above ! 


From my heart in its beguilement. 


Christ is risen ! 


From my tongue which speaks not fair, 


TnoMAS Blackburn. 


From my soul stained everywhere — 




my Jesus, take my prayer ! 




EASTER. 






Spurn me not, for all it says, — 


Rise, heart! thy Lord is risen. Sing His 


Not for words, and not for ways, — 


praise 


. Not for sliamelessness endured ! 


Without delays 


Make me brave to speak my mood, 


Who takes thee by the hand, that thou like- 


my Jesus, as I would I 


wise 


Or teach me, which I rather seek. 


With Him mayst rise — 


What to do and what to speak. 


That, as His death calcined thee to dust, 




His life may make thee gold, and much more 


I have sinned more than she 


just. 


Who, learning where to meet with Thee, 


Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part 


And bringing myrrh the highest priced. 


With all thy art! 


Anointed bravely, from her knee. 


The cross taught all wood to resound His name 


Thy blessed feet accordingly — 


Who bore the same ; 


My God, my Lord, my Christ! 


His stretched sinews taught all strings what 


As thou saJdest not "Depart," 


key 


To that suppliant from her heart, 


Is best to celebrate this most high day. 


Scorn me not, Word, that art 



I JOURNEY THROUGH A DESERT DREAR AND WILD, 



V53 



The gentlest one of all words said ! 
But give Thy feet to me instead, 
Tliat tenderly I may them kiss, 
And clasp them close, and never miss, 
With over-di'opping tears, as free 
And precious as that myrrh could be, 
T' anoint them bravely from my knee ! 

Wash me with Thy tears ! draw nigh me. 

That their salt may purify me ! 

Thou remit my sins who knowest 

All the sinning, to the lowest — 

Knowest all my wounds, and seest 

All the stripes Thyself decreest ; 

Yea, but knowest all my faith — 

Seest all my force to death, — 

nearest all my wailings low 

That mine evil should be so ! 

Nothing hidden but appears 

In Thy knowledge, Divine, 

O Creator, Saviour mine ! — 

Not a drop of falling tears, 

Not a breath of inward moan, 

Not a heart-beat — which is gone ! 

St. Joannes Damascenus. (Greek.) 
Translation of E. B. Browning. 



MY GOD, I LOVE THEE. 

My God, I love Thee ! not because 
I hope for heaven thereby ; 

Nor because those who love Thee not 
Must burn eternally. 

Thou, O my Jesus, Thou didst me 

Upon the cross embrace ! 
For me didst bear the nails and spear, 

And manifold disgrace. 

And griefs and torments numberless, 

And sweat of agony. 
Yea, death itself— and all for one 

Tliat was Thine enemy. 

Then why, blessed Jesus Christ, 
Should I not love Thee well ? 

Not for the hope of winning heaven. 
Nor of escaping hell ! 
99 



Not with the hope of gaining aught. 

Not seeking a reward ; 
But as Thyself hast loved me, 

O everlasting Lord ! 

E'en so I love Thee, and will love, 
And in Thy praise will sing — 

Solely because thou art my God, 

And my eternal king. 

St. Feancis Saviee, (Latin.) 
Translation of Edtvaed Caswell. 



"I JOURNEY THEOUGH A DESERT 
DREAR AND WILD." 

I JOUENEY through a desert drear and wild. 

Yet is my heai-t by such sweet thoughts be- 
guiled 

Of Him on whom I lean, my strength, my 
stay, 

I can forget the sorrows of the way. 

Thoughts of Hislove — the root of every grace, 

Which finds in this poor heart a dwelling- 
place ; 

The sunshine of my soul, than day more 
bright. 

And my calm pillow of repose by night. 

Thoughts of His sojourn in this vale of tears — 
The tale of love unfolded in those years 
Of sinless suffering, and patient grace, 
I love again and yet again to trace. 

Thoughts of His glory— on the cross I gaze, 
And there behold its sad, yet healing rays ; 
Beacon of hope, which lifted up on high, 
Illumes with heavenly light the tear-dinnned 
eye. 

Thoughts of His coming — for that joyfid day 
In patient hope I watcli, and wait, and pray ; 
The dawn draws nigh, the midnight shadows 

flee, 
Oh ! what a sunrise will that advent be ! 

Thus while I journey on, my Lord to meet. 
My thoughts and meditations are so sweet. 
Of Him on whom I lean, my strength, my 

stay, 
I can forget the sorrows of the way. 

ANONTJIOrS. 



/54 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



WRESTLING JACOB. 

FIRST PAET. 

Come, Thou traveller unknown, 
Whom still I hold, but cannot see', 

My company before is gone, 
And I am left alone with Thee; 

With Thee all night I mean to stay. 

And wrestle till the break of day, 

I need not tell Thee who I am ; 

My sin and misery declare ; 
Thyself hast called me by my name ; 

Look on Thy hands, and read it there ; 
But who, I ask Thee, who art Thou? 
Tell me Thy name, and tell me now. 

In vain Thou strugglest to get free ; 

I never will unloose my hold : 
Art Thou the man that died for me ? 

The secret of Thy love unfold ; 
Wrestling, I will not let Thee go. 
Till I Thy name. Thy nature know. 

Wilt Thou not yet to me reveal 

Thy new, xmutterable name ? 
Tell me, I still beseech Thee, tell ; 

To know it now resolved I am ; 
Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, 
Till I Thy name. Thy nature know. 

What though my shrinking flesh complain 
And murmur to contend so long ; 

I rise superior to my pain ; 
When I am weak, then am I strong ! 

And when my all of strength shall fail, 

I shall with the God-man prevail. 



SECOND PART. 

Yield to me now, for I am weak. 

But confident in self-despair; 
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak ; 

Be conquered by my instant prayer ; 
Speak, or Thou never hence shalt move, 
And tell me if Thy name be Love. 

'T is love! 'tis love! Thou diedst for me : 
I hear Thy whisper in my heart ; 

The morning breaks, the shadows flee ; 
Pure, universal love Thou art ; 



To me, to all, Thy bowels move, 
Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

My prayer hath power with God ; the grace 

Unspeakable I now receive ; 
Through faith I see Thee face to face ; 

I see Thee face to face and live ! 
In vain I have not wept and strove ; 
Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

I know Thee, Saviour, who Thou art, 
Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend ; 

'Nov wilt Thou with the night depart, 
But stay and love me to the end ; 

Thy mercies nevei* shall remove ; 

Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

The sun of righteousness on me 

Hath .rose, with healing in his wings ; 

Withered my nature's strength ; from Thee 
My soul its life and succor brings ; 

My help is all laid up above ; 

Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

Contented now upon my thigh 
I halt, till life's short journey end; 

All helplessness, all weakness, I 

On Thee alone for strength depend; 

Nor have I power from Thee to move ; 

Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

Lame as I am, I take the prey ; 

Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o'ercome; 
I leap for joy, pursue my way. 

And, as a bounding hart, fly home ; 
Through all eternity to prove 
Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

Chaeles Wesley. 



THE CALL. 

Come, my way, my truth, my life, — 
Such a way as gives us breath ; 
Such a truth as ends all strife ; 
Such a life as killeth death. 

Come my light, my feast, my strength !- 
Such a light as shows a feast ; 
Such a feast as mends in length : 
Such a strength as makes His guest. 



THE ODOR. 



1o5 



Come my joy, my love, my heart ! 
Such a joy as none can move ; 
Sucli a love as none can part; 
Such a heart as joys in love. 

Geokge IIerbeet. 



THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND. 

A POOR ^vayfaring man of grief 

Hath often crossed me on my way, 
"Who sued so humbly for relief 

That I could never answer "Nay." 
I had not power to ask His name. 
Whither He went, or whence He came ; 
Yet there was something in His eye 
That won my love, — I knew not why. 

Once, when my scanty meal was spread, 
He entered. Not a word He spake. 

Just perishing for want of bread, 
I gave Him all ; He blessed it, brake, 

And ate; — but gave me part again. 

Mine was an angel's portion then ; 

For while I fed with eager haste, 

That crust was manna to my taste. 

I spied Him where a fountain burst 
Clear from the rock ; His strength was 
gone; 
The heedless water mocked His thirst ; 

He heard it, saw it hurrying on. 
I ran to raise the sufferer up ; 
Ihrice from the stream He drained my cup. 
Dipped, and returned it running o'er ; — 
I drank, and never thirsted more. 

'T was night; the floods were out, — it blew 

A winter hurricane aloof; 
I heard His voice abroad, and flew 

To bid Him welcome to my roof; 
I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest — 
Laid Him on my own couch to rest ; 
Tlien made the earth my bed, and seemed 
In Eden's garden while I dreamed. 

Stripped, wounded, beaten nigh to death, 
I found Him by the highway side ; 

I roused His pulse, brought back His breath. 
Revived His spirit and supplied 



"Wine, oil, refreshment ; He was healed. 
I had, myself, a wound concealed — 
But from that hour forgot the smart. 
And peace bound up my broken heart. 

In prison I saw Him nex't, condemned 

To meet a traitor's doom at morn ; 
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed. 

And honored Him midst shame and scorn. 
My friendship's utmost zeal to try, 
He asked if I for Him would die ; 
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill. 
But the free spirit cried, " I will." 

Then in a moment, to my view, 
The stranger darted from disguise ; 

The tokens in His hands I Knew — 
My Saviour stood before mine eyes. 

He spake ; and my poor name he named — 

" Of me thou hast not been ashamed; 

These deeds shall thy memorial be ; 

Fear not ! thou didst them unto me." 

James Moxtgomeet. 



THE ODOR. 

How sweetly doth My Master sound ! — My 
Master ! 
As ambergris leaves a rich scent 

Unto the taster, 
So do these words a sweet content 
An oriental fi-agrancy — My Master ! 

"With these all day I do perfume my mind. 
My mind even thrust into them both — 

That I might find 
"What cordials make this curious broth. 
This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my 
mind. 

My Master shall I speak ? Oh that to Thee 
My servant were a little so 

As flesh may be ; 
That these two words might creep and 
grow 
To some degree of spiciness to Thee ! 

Then should the pomander, which was before 
A speaking sweet, mend by reflection. 

And iell me more ; 
For pai'don of my imperfection 

"Would warm and work it sweeter than before. 



756 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


For wlien My Master, wliicli alone is sweet, 


Such a sure part 


And e'en in my unworthiness pleasing. 


In His blest heart. 


Shall call and meet 


The well where living waters spring, 


My servant; as Thee not displeasing. 


That, with it fed. 


That call is but the breatliing of the sweet. 


Poor dust, though dead, 




Shall rise again, and live, and sing. 


Tliis breathing would with gains, by sweet- 




'ning me, 
(As sweet things traffick when they meet) 

Keturn to Thee ; 
And so this new commerce and sweet 
Should all my life employ, and busy me. 

George Herbert. 


drink and bread. 

Which strikes death dead. 
The food of man's immortal being ! 

Under veils here 

Thou art my cheer, 
Present and sure without my seeing. 

How dost Thou fly. 
And search and pry 


THE FEAST. 


On come away ! 


Through all my parts, and, like a quick 


Make no delay — 


And knowing lamp. 


Come while my heart is clean and steady ! 


Hunt out each damp 


"WhUe faith and grace 


"Whose shadow makes me sad or sick. 


Adorn the place, 




Making dust and ashes ready ! 


Oh what high joys ! 


No bliss here lent 
Is permanent— 
Such triumphs poor flesh cannot merit ; 
Short sips and sights 
Endear delights ; 


The turtle's voice 
And songs I hear ! quick'ning show era 

Of my Lord's blood. 

You make rocks bud, 
And crown dry hills with Avells and flowers ! 


"Who seeks for more he would inherit. 






For this true ease. 


Come then, true bread. 


This healing peace. 


Quick'ning tlie dead, 


For this brief taste of living glory. 


"Whose eater shall not, cannot die ! 


My soul and all. 


Come, antedate 


Kneel down and fall. 


On me that state 


And sing His sad victorious story ! 


"Which brings poor dust the victory I — 




Aye, victory ! 

"Which from thine eye. 
Breaks as the day doth from the east, 

When the spilt dew. 

Like tears, doth shew 
The sad world wept to be releast. 


thorny crown. 
More soft than down ! 

painful cross, my bed of rest ! 
spear, the key 
Opening the way ! 

Thy worst state my only best! 


Spring up, wine! 


Oh, all Thy griefs 


And springing shine 


Are my reliefs, 


"With some glad message from His heart. 


As all my sins Thy sorrows were! 


"Who did, when slain, 


And what can I 


These means ordain 


To this reply ? 


For me to have in Him a part ! — 


"What, God ! but a silent tear ! 



THE FLOWER. 'Jol 


Some toil and so w 


Of hot Arabia do enrich the air 


That wealth may flow, 


With more delicious sweetness than the fair 


And dress this earth for next year's meat ; 


Reports that crown the merits. of Thy name 


But let me heed 


With heavenly laurels of eternal fame. 


Why Thou didst hleed, 


Which makes tlie virgins fix their eyes upon 


And what in the next world to eat. 


Thee, 


Heney Vattghan. 


And all that view Thee are enamored on Thee. 

Who ever smelt the breath of morning flow- 
ers 


COMPLAIXIXG. 


Do not beguile my heart, 


New sweetened with the dash of twilight 


Because Thou art 


showers. 


My power and wisdom ! Put me not to shame. 


Of pounded amber, or the flowing thyme, 


Because I am 


Or purple violets in their proudest prime, 


Thy clay that sweeps, Thy dust that calls! 


Or swelUng clusters from the cypress-tree ? 




So sweet 's my love ; aye, far more sweet is 


Thou art the Lord of glory — 


He 


The deed and story 


So fair, so sweet, that heaven's bright eye is 
dim. 


Are both Thy due ; but I a silly fly, 


That live or die 


And flowers have no scent, compared with 
Him. 


According as the weather falls. 


xirt Thou all justice. Lord ? 


FlIANCIS QtTAKLES. 


Shows not Thy word 




More attributes ? Am I all throat or eye. 


THE FLOWER. 


To weep or cry ? 




Have I no parts but those of grief? 


How fresh, 0, Lord, hows'weet and clean 




Are thy returns! e'en as the flowers in 


Let not Thy wrathful power 


spring — 


Afflict my hour. 


To which, besides their own demean, 


My inch of life ; or let Thy gracious power 


The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. 


Contract my hour, 


Grief melts away 


That I may climb and find relief. 


Like snow in May, 


George Herbert. 


As if there were no such cold thing. 
Who would have thought my shrivelled 




SOXXETS. 


heart 




Coiald have recovered greenness ? It was gone 1 


How orient is Thy beauty ! How divine ! 


Quite under ground ; as flowers depart 


How dark 's the glory of the earth to Thine ! 


To see their mother-root when they have 


Thy veiled eyes outshine heaven's greater 


blown. 


light, 


Where they together. 


Unconquered by the shady cloud of night ; 


All the hard weather, 


Thy curious tresses dangle, all unbound. 


Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 


With unafi"ected order to the ground : 




How orient is Thy beauty! How divine! 


These are Thy wonders, Lord of power : 


How dark 's the glory of the earth to Thine ! 


Killing and quick'ning, bringing down to hell 




And up to heaven in an hour. 




Making a chiming of a passing-bell. 


I^OR myrrh, nor cassia, nor the choice per- 


AVe say amiss. 


fumes 


This or that is — 


Of unctions nard, or aromatic fumes 


Tliy word is all, if we could spell. 



75S POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


Oh, that I once past changing were — 


All for sin could not atone — 


Fast in Thy paradise, where no flower can 


Thou must save, and Thou alone 


wither ! 




Many a spring I shoot up fair, 


Nothing in my hand I bring — 


Offering at heaven, growing and groaning 


Simply to Thy cross I cling ; 


thither ; 


Naked come to Thee for dress — 


Nor doth my flower 


Helpless look to Thee for grace ; 


Want a spring-shower, 


Foul, I to the fountain fly — ' 


My sins and I joining together. 


Wash me, Saviour, or I die. 


But, while I grow in a straight line. 


While I draw this fleeting breath, 


Still upwards hent, as if heaven were mine 


When my eye-strings break in death, 


own. 


When I soar to worlds unknown, 


Thy anger comes, and I decline; 


See Thee on Thy judgment throne, 


What frost to that? what pole is not the zone 


Rock of ages, cleft for me, 


Where all things burn, 


Let me hide myself in Thee! 


When Thou dost turn 


AtJGTTSTirs Montague Topladt. 


And the least frown of Thine is shown ? 
And now in age I bud again — 






After so many deaths I live and write ; 


JESUS. 


I once more smell the dew and rain, 


None upon earth I desire beside Thee. 


And relish versing ; my only light, 


Psalm Ixxiii. 25. 


It cannot be 




That I am he 


How tedious and tasteless the hours 


On whom Thy tempests fell all night ! 


When Jesus no longer I see ! 




Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and svreet 


These are Thy wonders. Lord of love — 


flower's. 


To make us see we are but flowers that 


Have lost all their sweetness with me ; 


glide ; 


The midsummer sun shines but dim, 


Which when we once can find and 


The flelds strive in vain to look gay ; 


prove. 


But when I am happy in Ilim, 


Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. 


December 's as pleasant as May. 


Who would be more, 




Swelling through store. 


Ilis name yields the richest perfume, 


Forfeit their paradise by their pride. 


And sweeter than music His voice ; 


Gboege Herbert. 


His presence disperses my gloom. 




And makes all within me rejoice; 
I should, were He always thus nigh, 




A PRAYER LIVING AND DYING. 


Have nothing to wish or to fear ; 


Rook of ages, cleft for me. 


No mortal so happy as I — 


Let me hide myself in Thee ! 


My summer would last all the year. 


Let the water and the blood, 




From Thy riven side which flowed, 


Content with beholding His face, 


Be of sin the double cure — 


My all to His pleasure resigned. 


Cleanse me from its gilt and power. 


No changes of season or place 




Would make any change in my mind ; 


Not the labors of my hands 


While blest with a sense of His love 


Can fulfil Tliy law's demands ; 


A palace a toy would appear ; 


Could my zeal no respite know, 


And prisons would palaces prove. 


Could my tears for ever flow, 


If Jesus would dwell with me there. 



THE WATCHMAN'S REPORT. '759 


Dear Lord, if indeed I am Thine, 


Ye who, tossed on beds of pain, 


If Thou art my sun and my song — 


Seek for case, but seek in vain — 


Say, why do I hinguish and pine, 


Ye whose swollen and sleepless eyes 


And why are my winters so long ? 


Watch to sec the morning rise — 


Oh drive these dark clouds from ray sky, 




Thy soul-cheeriug presence restore ; 
Or take me unto Thee on high, 


Ye by fiercer anguish torn. 


Where winter and clouds are no more. 


In strong I'emorse for guilt who mourn, 


John Newtok. 


Here repose your heavy care — 




A wounded spirit who can bear ! 


• 

THE EX.VMPLE OF CUEIST. 


Sinner, come! for here is found 




Balm that flows for every wound — 


Mt dear Redeemer, and my God, 


Peace, that ever shall endure — 


I read my duty in Thy word ; 


Eest eternal, sacred, sure. 


But in Thy life the law appears 


Anna L.etitia Bakbatji.d 


Drawn out in living characters. 

Such was Tliy truth, and such Thy zeal. 
Such deference to Thy Father's will. 




THE WATCHMAN'S REPORT. 


Such love, and meekness so divine, 




I would transcribe, and make them mine. 


Watchmax, tell us of the night — 




What its signs of promise are ! 


Cold mountains, and the midnight air, 
Witnessed the fervor of Thy prayer; 
The desert Thy temptations knew — 
Thy conflict, and Thy victory too. 


Traveller, o'er yon mountain's height 
See that glory-beaming star! 

Watchman, does its beauteous ray 
Aught of hope or joy foretell ? 

Traveller, yes ; it brings the day — 




Promised day of Israel. 


Be thou my pattern ; make me bear 




. More of Thy gracious image here ; 




Then God, the Judge, shall own my name 


Watchman, tell us of the night — 


Amongst the followers of the Lamb. 


Higher yet that star ascends ! 


Isaac Watts. 


Traveller, blessedness and hght, 




Peace and truth, its course portends. 


• 


Watchman, will its beams alone 


COME UNTO ME. 


Gild the spot that gave tliem birth ? 
Traveller, ages are its own — 


•Come unto me all yc that are weary and heavy laden, 


See, it bursts o'er all the earth ! 


and I will give you rest." 




Come, said Jesus' sacred voice — 


Watchman, tell us of the night, 


Come and make my paths your choice ! 


For the morning seems to dawn. 


I will guide you to your home — 


Traveller, darkness takes its flight- 


Weary pilgrim, hither come ! 


Doubt and terror are withdrawn. 




Watchman, let thy wandering cease ; 


Thou who, houseless, sole, forlorn, 


Hie thee to thy quiet home. 


Long liast borne the proud world's scorn. 


Traveller, lo ! the prince of peace — 


Long hast roamed the barren waste. 


Lo ! the Son of God is come. 


Weary pilgrim, hither haste ! 


John Bowkino. 







760 POEMS 01 


1 
^ RELIGION. 


" JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL." 


" JESUS, MY STEENGTH, MY HOPE.'* 


Jesus, lover of my soul, 


Jesus, my strength, my hope, 


Let me to Thy bosom fly. 


On Thee I cast my care — 


While the nearer waters roll, 


With humble confidence look up, 


While the tempest still is high ! 


And know thou hear'st my prayer. 


Hide me, my Saviour, hide, 


Give me on Thee to wait 


Till the storm of life is past : 


Till I can all things do — 


Safe into Thy haven guide — 


On Thee, almighty to create, 


Oh receive my soul at last. 


Almighty to renew. 




I want a sober mind, 


Other refuge have I none — 


A self-renonncing will 


Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ; 


That tramples down, and casts behind, 


Leave, ah! leave me not alone — 


The baits of pleasing ill — 


Still support and comfort me. 


A soul inured to pain, 


All my trust on Thee is stayed, 


To hardship, grief, and loss — 


All my help from Thee I bring : 


Bold to take up, firm to sustain, 


Cover my defenceless head 


The consecrated cross. 


With the shadow of Thy wing. 


I want a godly fear, 




A quick discerning eye, 


Wilt Thou not regard my call ? 


That looks to Thee when sin is near, 


Wilt Thou not regard my prayer ? 


And sees the tempter fly — 


Lo! I sink, I faint, I faU— 


A spirit still prepared, 


Lo ! on Thee I cast my care ; 


And armed with jealous care — 


Eeach me out Thy gracious hand, 


Forever standing on its guard, 


While I of Thy strength receive ! 


And watching unto prayer. 


Hoping against hope I stand — 
Dying, and behold I live. 


I want a heart to pray, 




To pray, and never cease ; 


Thou, Christ, art all I want — 


Never to murmur at Thy stay, 
Or wish ray sufferings less. 


More than all in Thee I find ; 


This blessing, above all. 


Eaise the fallen, cheer the fiiint, 


Always to pray, I want, — 


Heal the sick, and lead the blind. 


Out of the deep on Thee to call, 


Just and holy is Thy name — 


And never, never faint. 


I am all unrighteousness ; 




False, and full of sin I am : — 


I want a true regard — 


Thou art full of truth and grace. 


A single, steady aim 




(Unmoved by threatening or reward), 


Plenteous grace with Thee is found, — 


To Thee and Thy great name — 
A jealous, just concern 


Grace to cover all my sin ; 


For Thine immortal praise — 


Let the healing streams abound — 


A pure desire that all may learn 


Make and keep me pure within. 
Thou of life the fountain art — 


And glorify Thy grace. 


Freely let me take of Thee ; 


I rest upon Thy word, — 


Spring Thou up within my heart — 


The promise is for me ; 


Eise to all eternity. 


My succor and salvation. Lord, 


CuAKLEs Wesley. 


Shall siu-ely come from Thee ; 



ETERNAL BEAM OF LIGHT DIVINE. 



7G1 



But let me still abide, 

Nor from my hope remove, 

Till Thou my patient spirit guide 
Into Thy perfect love. 

CiiAitLES Wesley. 



LIVING BY CHRIST. 

Jestjs, Thy boundless love to me 

No thought can reach, no tongue declare ; 
Oh knit my thankful heart to Thee, 

And reign without a rival there. 
Thine wholl}'-. Thine alone, I am — 
Be Thou alone my constant flame. 

Oh grant that nothing in my soul 
May dwell but Thy pure love alone ; 

Oh may Thy love possess me whole — 
My joy, my treasure, and my crown ! 

Strange flames far from my heart remove — 

My every act, word, thought, be love. 

O Love, how cheering is Thy ray ! 

All pain before Thy presence flies ; 
Care, anguish, sorrow, melt away 

Where'er Thy healing beams arise ; 
Jesu, nothing may I see, 
Nothing desire or seek, but Thee ! 

Unwearied may I this pursue — 
Dauntless, to the high prize aspire ; 

Hourly within my soul renew 

This holy flame, this heavenly fire ; 

And, day and night, be all my care 

To guard the sacred treasure there. 

My Saviour, Thou Thy love to me 

In shame, in want, in pain, hast showed ; 

Tor me, on the accursed tree. 

Thou pouredst forth Tliy guiltless blood ; 

Thy wounds upon my heart impress. 

Nor aught shall the loved stamp eftace. 

More hard than marble is my heart. 
And foul with sins of deepest stain ; 

But Thou the mighty Saviour art, 

Nor flowed Thy cleansing blood in vain ; 

Ah, soften, melt this rock, and may 

Thy blood wash aU these stains away ! 
100 



Oh that I, as a little child. 
May follow Thee, and never rest 

Till sweetly Thou hast breathed Thy mild 
And lowly mind into my breast ! 

Nor ever may we parted be 

Till I become one spirit with Thee. 

Still let Thy love point out my way ! 

How wondrous things Thy love hath 
wrought ! 
Still lead me, lest I go astray — 

Direct my word, inspire my thought ; 
x\s if I fall, soon may I hear 
Thy voice, and know that love is near. 



In suffering be Thy love my peace. 
In weakness be Thy love my power ; 

And when the storms of life shall cease, 
Jesus, in that important hour. 

In death, as life, be Thou my guide. 

And save me, who for me hast died. 

Paul Geehaed. (German.) 
Translation of Johx Wesley. 



" ETERNAL BEAM OF LIGHT DIVINE." 

Eteexal beam of liglit divine, 

Fountain of unexhausted love. 
In whom tlie Father's glories shine 

Through earth beneath, and heaven above ! 



Jesus, the weary wanderer's rest, 
Give me Thy easy yoke to bear ; ' 

With steadfiist patience arm my breast, 
With spotless love and lowly fear. 



Thankful I take the cup from Thee, 
Prepared and mingled by Thy skill — 

Though bitter to the taste it be. 
Powerful tlie wounded soul to heal. 



Be thou, O Rock of Ages, nigh ! 

So shall each murmuring thought be gone ; 
And grief, and fear, and care shall fly 

As clouds before the mid-dny sun. 



'762 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


Speak to ray "warring passions, — Peace ! 


Perfect let us walk before Thee — 


Say to my trembling heart, — Be still ! 


Walk in white 


Thy power my strength and fortress is, 


To the sight 


For all things serve Thy sovereign will. 


Of Thy heavenly glory ! 


death! where is thy sting? Where now 


Both with calm impatience press on 


Thy boasted victory, grave ? 


To the prize — 


Who shall contend with God ? or who 


Scale the skies. 


Can hurt whom God delights to save ? 


Take entire possession— 


Chaeles Wesley. 






D;-ink of life's exhaustless river- 




Take of Thee 


"FEIEND OF ALL." 


Life's fair tree — 


Feiend of all who seek Thy fevor. 


Eat, and live for ever ! 

Chaeles Weslki 


Us defend 




To the end — 




* 


Be our utmost Saviour ! 






LITANY. 


Us, who join on earth to adore Thee, 

Guard and love. 

Till above 
Both appear before Thee ! 


Saviour, when in dust to Thee 
Low we bow the adoring knee ; 
When, repentant, to the skies 
Scarce we lift our weeping eyes — 




0, by all Thy pains and woe 


Fix on Thee our whole afiection— 


Suffered once for man below. 


Love divine. 


Bending from Thy throne on high. 


Keep us Thine, 


Hear our solemn litany ! 


Safe in Thy protection ! 






By Thy helpless infant years ; 


Christ, of all our conversation 


By Thy life of want and tears ; 


Be -the scope — 


By Thy days of sore distress. 


Lift us up 


In the savage wilderness ; 


To Thy full salvation ! 


By the dread, mysterious hour 




Of the insulting tempter's power — 


Bring us every moment nearer ; 
Fairer rise 


Turn, turn, a favoring eye — 
Hear our solemn litany ! 


In our eyes — 




Dearer still, and dearer ! 


By the sacred griefs that wept 




O'er the grave where Lazarus slept ; 


Infinitely dear and precious, 


By the boding tears that flowed 


With Thy love 


Over Salem's loved abode ; 


From above 


By the anguished sigh that told 


Evermore refresh us ! 


Treachery lurked within the fold — 




From Thy seat above the sky 


Strengthened by the cordial blessing. 


Hear our solemn litany ! 


Let us haste 




To the feast, 


By Thine hour of dire despair ; 


Feast of joys unceasing ! 


By Thine agony of prayer ; 



HYMNS. i&z 


By the cross, the wail, the thorn, 


"When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, 


Piercing spear, and torturing scorn ; 


Which covers what was once a friend. 


By tlie gloom that veiled tlie skies 


And from his voice, his hand, his smile, 


O'er the dreadful sacrifice — 


Divides me for a little while ; 


Listen to our humble cry: 


Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed, 


Hear our solemn litany ! 


For Thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead. 


By Thy deep expiring gi-oan ; 


And oh, when I have safely past 


By the sad sepulchral stone ; 


Through every conflict — but the last, 


By the vault whose dark abode 


Still, still unchanging, watch beside 


Held in vain the rising God ! 


My painful bed, — for Thou hast died ; 


Oh ! from earth to heaven restored, 


Then point to realms of cloudless day, 


Mighty, reascended Lord — 


And wipe the latest tear away. 


Listen, listen to the cry 
Of our solemn litany ! 


SiK EOBEET GEANT. 


SiK EOBEET GeANT. 


. . 


1 


HYMF 


HYMF. 




WnE^r gathering clouds around I view, 


rOE SIXTEEXTH SU^STDAY AFTER TEIiSITY. 


And days are dark, and friends are few, 
On Him I lean, who, not in vain, 


Whek our heads are bowed with woe, 
When our bitter tears o'erflow, 


Experienced every human pain ; 
He sees my wants, allays my fears, 
And counts and treasures up my tears. 


When we mourn the lost, the dear ; 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 


If aught should tempt my soul to stray 
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way, 
To Ily the good I would pursue, 
Or do the sin I would not do, — 


Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn, 
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne, 
Thou hast shed the human tear : 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 


Still He who felt temptation's power 




Shall guard me in that dangerous hour. 


When the sullen death-bell tolls 




For our own departed souls — 


If wounded love my bosom swell, 


When our final doom is near. 


Deceived by those I prized too well. 


Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 


He shall His pitying aid bestow 




Who felt on earth severer woe, 




At once betrayed, denied, or fled, 


Thou hast bowed the dying head. 


By those who shared His daily bread. 


Thou the blood of life hast shed, 




Thou hast filled a mortal bier : 




Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 


If vexing thoughts witliiu me rise, 




And sore dismayed my spirit dies, 




Still He who once vouchsafed to bear 


When the heart is sad within 


The sickening anguish of despair 


With the thought of all its sin. 


Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently diy, 


When the spirit shrinks with fear, 


The throbbing heart, the streaming eye. 


Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 



764 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Thou the shame, tlie grief hast known ; 
Though the sins were not Thine own, 
Thou hast deigned their load to hear : 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 

Henry IIaet Milman. 



THE DEAD CHRIST. 

Take the dead Christ to my chaniher — 

The Christ I brought from Eome ; 
Over all the tossing ocean, 

He has reached His western home : 
Bear Him as in procession, 

And lay Him solemnly 
Where, through weary night and morning, 

He shall bear me company. 

The name I bear is other 

Than that I bore by birth ; 
And I 've given life to children 

Who '11 grow and dwell on earth ; 
But the time comes swiftly towards me — 

Nor do I bid it stay — 
When the dead Christ will be more to me 

Than all I hold to-day. 

Lay the dead Christ beside me — 

Oh, press Him on my heart ; 
I would hold Him long and painfully, 

Till the weary tears should start — 
Till the divine contagion 

Heal me of self and sin, 
And the cold weight press wholly down 

The pulse that chokes within. 

Eeproof and frost, they fret me ; 

Towards the free, the sunny lands. 
From the chaos of existence, 

I stretch these feeble hands — 
And, penitential, kneeling. 

Pray God would not be wroth, 
Who gave not the strength of feeling 

And strength of labor both. 

Thou 'rt but a, wooden carving. 

Defaced of worms, and old ; 
Yet more to me Thou couldst not be 

Wert Thou all wrapt in gold, 



Like the gem-bedizened baby 
Which, at the Twelfth-day noon. 

They show from the Ara Coeli's steps 
To a merry dancing tune. 

I ask of Thee no wonders — 

Fo changing white or red ; 
I dream not Thou art living, 

I love and prize Thee dead. 
That salutary deadness 

I seek through want and pain, 
From which God's own high power can bid 

Onr virtue rise again. 

Julia Waed Howb. 



SONNET. 

Ix the desert of the Holy Land I strayed, 
Where Christ once lived, but seems to live 

no more ; 
In Lebanon my lonely home I made ; 
I heard the wind among, the cedars roar. 
And saw far off the Dead Sea's solemn shore— 
But 't is a dreary wilderness, I said, 
Since the prophetic spirit hence has sped. 
Then from the convent in the vale I heard. 
Slow chanted forth, the everlasting Word — 
Saying "I ara He that liveth, and was dead ; 
And lo I am alive for evermore," 
Then forth upon my pilgrimage I fare, 
Resolved to iind and praise Him every where. 

Anonymous. 



A HYMN. 

Deop, drop, slow tears. 

And bathe those beauteous feet 
Which brought from heaven 

The news and prince of peace ! 
Cease not, wet eyes. 

His mercies to entreat 
To cry for vengeance 

Sin doth never cease ; 
In your deep floods 

Drown all my faults and fears ; 
Nor let His eye 

See sin, but through my tears. 

PlIINEAS FlETCHEB 



CHRISTMAS. 



765 



A CHEISTMAS HYMN. 

It was the calm and silent night ! 

Seven hundred years and fifty-three 
Had Eome heen growing up to might, 

And now was queen of land and sea. 
No sound was heai'd of clashing wars — 

Peace hrooded o'er the hushed domain : 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars 

Held undisturbed their ancient reign. 

In the solemn midnight. 

Centuries ago. 

'T was in the calm and silent night ! 

The senator of haughty Rome, 
Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, 

From lordly revel rolling home ; 
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell 
His breast with thoughts of boundless 
sway ; 
"What recked the Roman what befell 
A paltry proviace far away, 

In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago ? 

Within that province far away 

Went plodding home a weary boor ; 
A streak of light before him lay, 

Fallen through a half-shut stable-door 
Across his path. He passed — for naught 

Told what was going on within ; 
How keen the stars, his only thought — 

The air how calm, and cold, and thin. 

In the solemn midnight. 

Centuries ago ! 

Oh, strange indiiference ! low and high 

Drowsed over common joys and cares ; 
The earth was still — but knew not why 

The world was- listening, unawares. 
How calm a moment may precede 

One that shall thrill the world for ever ! 
To that still moment, none would heed, 

Man's doom was linked no more to sever- 
In the solemn midnight. 
Centuries ago ! 

It is the calm and solemn night ! 

A thousand bells ring out, and throw 
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite 

The darkness — charmed and holy now ! 



"The night that erst no name had worn, 

To it a happy name is given ; 
For in that stable lay, new-born. 

The peaceful prince of earth and heaven, 
In the solemn midnight. 
Centuries ago ! 

Alfred Dommett. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky. 
The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
The year is dying in the night — 

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new — 
Ring, happy bells, across the saow : 
The year is going, let him go ; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind. 
For those that here we see no more ; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
And ancient forms of party strife ; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times : 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood. 
The civic slander and the spite; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease, 
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old. 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free, 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Ring out the darkness of the land — 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

Alfekd Tennyson. 



766 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



ST. PETEE'S DAY. 

Thou tlirice denied, yet thrice beloved, 
TVatch by Thine own forgiven friend ! 

In sharpest perils faithful proved, 
Let his soul love Thee to the end. 

The prayer is heard — else "why so deep 
His slumber on the eve of death ? 

And wherefore smiles he in his sleep, 
As one who drew celestial breath ? 

He loves and is beloved again — 
Can his soul choose but be at rest ? 

Sorrow hath fled away, and pain 
Dares not invade the guarded nest. 

He dearly loves, and not alone ; 

For his winged thoughts are soaring high. 
Where never yet frail heart was known 

To breathe in vain affection's sigh. 

He loves and weeps ; but more than tears 
Have sealed Thy welcome and his love — 

One look lives in him, and endears 

Crosses and wrongs where'er he rove — 

That gracious chiding look, Thy call 

To win him to himself and Thee, 
Sweetening the sorrow of his fall 
■ Which else were rued too bitterly ; 

Even through the veil of sleep it shines, 
The memory of that kindly glance ; — 

The angel, watching by, divines, 
And spares awhile his blissful trance. 

Or haply to his native lake 
His vision wafts him back, to talk 

With Jesus, ere his flight he take. 
As in that solemn evening walk. 

When to the bosom of his friend. 
The Shepherd, He whose name is Good, 

Did His dear lambs and sheep commend, 
Both bought and nourished with His blood ; 



Then laid on him th' inverted tree. 
Which, firm embraced with heart and arm, 

Might cast o'er hope and memory, 
O'er life and death, its awful charm. 

With brightening heart he bears it on, 
His passport through th' eternal gates, 

To his sweet home — so nearly won. 
He seems, as by the door he waits, 

The unexpressive notes to hear 
Of angel song and angel motion, 

Eising and falling on the ear 

Like waves in joy's unbounded ocean. — 

His dream is changed — the tyrant's voice 
Calls to that last of glorious deeds — 

But as he rises to rejoice, 

Not Herod, but an angel leads. 

He dreams he sees a lamp flash bright, 
Glancing around his prison room ; 

But 't is a gleam of heavenly light 
That fills up all the ample gloom. 

The flame, that in a few short years 
Deep through the chambers of the dead 

Sliall pierce, and dry the fount of tears, 
Is waving o'er his dungeon-bed. 

Touched, he upstarts — his chains unbind — 
Through darksome vault, up massy stair, 

His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind 
To freedom and cool, moonlight air. 

Then all himself, all joy and calm, 
Though for awhile his hand forego, 

Just as it touched, the martyr's palm. 
He turns him to his task below : 

The pastoral staflP, the keys of heaven. 
To wield awhile in gray-haired might — 

Then from his cross to spring forgiven. 
And follow Jesus out of sight. 

John Kkble 



THE LABORER'S NOONDAY HYMN. 



767 



THE EMIGRANTS IN" BERMUDAS. 

"WnEEE the remote Bermudas ride 
In th' ocean's bosom, unespied — 
From a small boat, that rowed along, 
The list'ninff winds received this sons : 



What should we do but sing His praiee 
That led us through the watery maze 
Unto an isle so long unknown, 
And yet far kinder than our own ? 
Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks 
That lift the deep upon their backs. 
He lands us on a grassy stage. 
Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage. 
He gave us this eternal spring 
"Which here enamels every thing. 
And sends the fowls to us in care. 
On daily visits through the air. 
He hangs in shades the orange bright, 
Like golden lamps in a green night, 
And does in the pomegranates close 
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. 
He makes the figs our mouths to meet. 
And throws the melons at our feet. 
But apples — plants of such a price 
No tree could ever bear them twice. 
With cedars, chosen by His hand 
From Lebanon, He stores the land ; 
And makes the hollow seas, that roar, 
Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
He cast (of which we rather boast) 
The gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 
And in these rocks for us did frame 
A temple, where to sound His name. 
Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt 
Till it arrive at heaven's vault ; 
Which, then, perhaps rebounding, may 
Echo beyond the Mexique bay. 

Thus song they, in the English boat, 
A holy and a cheerful note ; 
And all the way, to guide their chime, 
With falling oars they kept the time. 

Andrew Martxll. 



HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her father's God before her moved. 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonished lands 

The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answered keen ; 
And Zion's daughters poured their lays. 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze — 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways. 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen, 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen. 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And oh, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night, 
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams — 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, the blood of goats, 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize — 
A contrite heart, and humble thoughts, 

Are mine accepted sacrifice. 

Sir Wamer Scott 



THE LABORER'S NOONDAY HYMN. 

Up to the throne of God is borne 
The voice of praise at early morn. 
And He accepts the punctual hymn 
Sung as the light of day grows dim ; 

Nor will He turn his ear aside 
From holy offerings at noontide : 
Then, here reposing, let us raise 
A song of gratitude and praise. 



'768 



POEMS OF RELIGION, 



"What though our burden be not light, 
We need not toil from morn to night ; 
The respite of the mid-day hour 
Is in the thankful creature's power. 

Blest are the moments, doubly blest,' 
That, drawn from this one hour of rest, 
Are with a ready heart bestowed 
Upon the service of our God ! 

Each field is then a hallowed spot — 
An altar is in each man's cot, 
A church in every grove that spreads 
Its living roof above our heads. 

Look up to heaven ! the industrious sun 
Already half his race hath Trun ; 
He cannot halt nor go astray — 
But our immortal spirits may. 



Lord ! since his rising in the east 
If we have faltered or transgressed, 
Guide, from Thy love's abundant source, 
What yet remains of this day's course. 

Help with Thy grace, through life's short 

day. 
Our upward and our downward Avay; 
And glorify for us tlie west, 
When we shall sink to final rest. 

William Woedswoeth. 



TO KEEP A TEUE LENT. 

Is this a fast — to keep 
The larder lean. 
And clean 
From fat of veals and sheep ? 

Is it to quit the dish 

Of flesh, yet still 
To fill 
The platter high with fish ? 

Is it to fast an hour — 

Or ragged to go — 
Or show 
A downcast look, and sour ? 



No ! 't is a fast to dole 

Thy sheaf of wheat. 
And meat, 
Unto the hungry soul. 

It is to fast from strife, 
From old debate 
And hate — 
To circumcise thy life. 

To show a heart grief-rent ; 
To starve thy sin, 
Not bin — 
And that 's to keep thy lent. 

EOBEET UeKEIOK. 



FASTING. 



Is fasting then the thing that God requires ? 

Can fasting expiate, or slake those fires 
That sin hath blown to such a mighty 

flame ? 
Can sackcloth clothe a fault, or hide a shame ? 
Can ashes cleanse thy blot, or purge thy of- 
fence ? 
Or do thy hands make heaven a recompense, 
By strewing dust upon thy briny face ? 
Are these the tricks to purchase heavenly 

grace ? — 
No I though thou pine thyself with willing 

want, 
Or face look thin, or carcass ne'er so gaunt ; 
Although thou worser weeds than sackcloth 

wear. 
Or naked go, or sleep in shirts of hair ; 
Or though thou choose an ash-tub for thy bed, 
Or make a daily dunghill on thy head ; — 
Thy labor is not poised with equal gains, 
For thou hast naught but labor for thy 

pains. 
Such holy madness God rejects and loathes, 
That sinks no deeper than the skin or clothes. 
'Tis not thine eyes, which, taught to weep 

by art. 
Look red with tears (not guilty of thy heart) : 
'T is not the holding of thy hands so higli. 
Nor yet the purer squinting of thine eye ; 



CHARITY AND HUMILITY. 



^69 



'Tis not your mimic mouths, your antic 

faces, 
Your Scripture phrases, or affected graces, 
IS! or pi'odigal up-banding of thine eyes, 
"Whose gashful balls do seem to pelt the 

skies ; 
'T is not the strict reforming of your hair. 
So close that all the neighbor skull is 

bare; 
'T is not the drooping of thy head so low, 
Nor yet the lowering of thy sullen brow ; 
Nor wolvish howling that disturbs the air. 
Nor repetitions, or your tedious prayer : 
No, no ! 't is none of this, that God regards — 
Such sort of fools their own applause re- 

Avards ; 
Such puppet-plays to heaven are strange and 

quaint ; 
Their service is unsweet, and foully taint ; 
Their words fall fruitless from their idle 

brain — 
But true repentance runs in other strain : 
"Where sad contrition harbors, there the 

heart 
Is truly acquainted with the secret smart 
Of past offences — hates the bosom sin 
The most, which the soul took pleasure in. 
No crime unsifted, no sin unpresented, 
Can lui-k unseen ; and seen, none unlament- 

ed. 
The troubled soul 's amazed with dire aspects 
Of lesser sins committed, and detects 
The wounded conscience ; it cries amain 
For mercy, mercy — cries, and cries again; 
It sadly grieves, and soberly laments ; 
It yeai'ns for grace, reforms, returns, re- 
pents. 
Aye, this is incense whose accepted favor 
Mounts up the heavenly Throne, and findeth 

favor ; 
Aye, this is it whose valor never fails — 
With God it stoutly wrestles, and prevails ; 
Aye, this is it that pierces heaven above. 
Never returning home, like Noah's dove. 
But brings an olive leaf, or some increase 
That works salvation, and eternal peace. 

Fbanck Quakleb. 



CHAKITY AND HUMLITY. 



Far have I clambered in my mind, 
But naught so great as love I find ; 
Deep-searching wit^ mount-moving might, 
Are naught compared to that good spright. 
Life of delight, and soul of bliss I 
Sure source of lasting happiness ! 
Higher than heaven, lower than hell ! 
"What is thy tent? where mayst thou dwell? 

My mansion hight humility. 
Heaven's vastest capability — 
The further it doth downward tend 
The higher up it doth ascend ; 
If it go down to utmost naught 
It shall return with that it sought. 

Lord, stretch Tliy tent in my strait 
breast — 
Enlarge it downward, that sure rest 
May there be pight ; for that pure fire 
"Wherewith thou wontest to inspire 
All self-dead souls. My life is gone — 
Sad solitude 's my irksome wonne. 
Cut off from men and aU this world, 
In Lethe's lonesome ditch I 'm hurled. 
Nor might nor sight doth aught me move. 
Nor do I care to be above. 
O feeble rays of mental light, 
That best be seen in this dark night ! 
"What are you ? what is any strength 
If it be not laid in one length 
With pride or love ? I naught desire 
But a new life, or quite t' expire. 
Could I demolish with mine eye 
Strong towers, stop the fleet stars in sky, 
Bring down to earth the pale-faced moon. 
Or turn black midnight to bright noon — 
Though all things Avere put in my hand — 
As parched, as dry, as the Libyan sand 
"Would be my life, if charity 
"Were wanting. But humility 
Is more than my poor soul durst crave, 
That lies intombed in lov/ly grave. 
But if 't were lawful up to send 
My voice to heaven, this should it rend : 

Lord, thrust me deeper into dust 
That Thou mayest raise me with the just T 

IIenky Mobs. 



101 



770 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



HUMILITY. 

The bird tliat soars on liigliest wing 
Builds on the ground her lowly nest ; 

And she that doth most sweetly sing 

Sings in the shade, where all things rest ; 
In lark and nightingale we see 

What honor hath humility. 

When Mary chose " the better part," 

She meekly sat at Jesus' feet ; 
And Lydia's gently opened heart 

Was made for God's own temple meet : 
Fairest and best adorned is she 

Whose clothing is humility. 

The saint that wears heaven's brightest 
crown 
In deepest adoration bends : 
The weight of glory bows him down 

Then most, when most his soul ascends : 
Nearest the throne itself must be 
The footstool of humility. 

James Montgomery. 



" IS THIS A TIME TO PLANT AND 
BUILD?" 

Is this a time to plant and build, 
Add house to house, and field to field, 
When round our walls the battle lowers — 
When mines are hid beneath our towers. 
And watchful foes are stealing round 
To search and spoil the holy ground ? 

Is this a time for moonlight dreams 
Of love and home, by mazy streams — 
For fancy with her shadowy toys. 
Aerial hopes and pensive joys, 
While souls are wandering far and wide, 
And curses swarm on every side ? 

No — rather steel thy melting heart 
To act the martyr's sternest part — 
To watch, with firm unshrinking eye. 
Thy darling visions as they die. 
Till all bright hopes, and hues of day. 
Have faded into twilight gray. 
Yes — let them pass without a sigh ; 
And if the world seem dull and dry — 



If long and sad thy lonely hours, 
And winds have rent thy sheltering bowers — 
Bethink thee what thou art, and where, 
A sinner in a life of care. 

The fire of God is soon to fall — 
Thou know'st it — on this earthly ball ; 
Full many a soul, the price of blood 
Marked by the Almighty's hand for good, 
To utter death that hour shall sweep — 
And will the saints in heaven dare weep ? 

Then in His wrath shall God uproot 
The trees He set, for lack of fruit ; 
And drown in rude tempestuous blaze 
The towers His hand had deigned to raise. 
In silence, ere that storm begin. 
Count o'er His mercies and thy sin. 

Pray only that thine aching heart — 
From visions vain content to part, 
Strong for love's sake its woe to hide — 
May cheerful wait the cross beside : 
Too happy if, that dreadful day. 
Thy life be given thee for a prey. 

Snatched sudden from the avenging 4"od, 
Safe in the bosom of thy God, 
How wilt thou then look back, and smile 
On thoughts that bitterest seemed erewhile, 
And bless the pangs that made thee see 
This was no world of rest for thee ! 

Jobs Kbble. 



HYMN 



FOR AXNIVEESAEY MARRIAGE DATS. 

Lord, living here are we — 

As fast united yet 
As when our hands and hearts by Thee 

Together first were knit. 
And. in a thankful song 

Now sing we will Thy praise, 
For that Thou dost as well prolong 

Our loving as our days. 



r 



THE PRIEST, 



711 



Together we have now 

Begim another year ; 
But how much time Thou wilt allow 

Thou mak'st it not appear. 
We, therefore, do implore 

That live and love we may. 
Still so as if but one day more 

Together we should stay. 

Let each of other's wealth 

Preserve a faithful care, 
And of each other's joy and health 

As if one soul Ave were. 
Such conscience let us make, 

Each other not to grieve, 
As if we daily were to take 

Our everlasting leave. 

f 
The frowardness that springs 

From our corrupted kind. 
Or from those troublous outward things 

"Which may distract the mind, 
Permit Thou not, Lord, 

Our constant love to shake — 
Or to disturb our true accord, 

Or make our hearts to ache. 

But let these frailties prove 

Aflection's exercise ; 
And that discretion teach our love 

"Which wins the noblest prize. 
So time, which wears away, 

And ruins all things else. 
Shall fix our love on Thee for aye. 

In whom perfection dwells. 

George Wither. 



Her walls, wherewith she is inclosed. 
And streets, are of pure gold composed. 

The gates, adorned with pearls most bright. 

The way to hidden glory show ; 

And thither, by the blessed might 

Of faith in Jesus' merits, go 
All those who are on earth distressed 
Because they have Christ's name pro- 
fessed. 

These stones the workmen dress and beat 
Before they throughly polished are ; 
Then each is in his proper seat 
Established by the builder's care- 
In this fair frame to stand for ever. 
So joined that them no force can sever. 

To God, who sits in highest seat, 

Glory and power given be ! 

To Father, Son, and Paraclete, 

Who reign in equal dignity — 

Whose boundless power we still adore, 
And sing Their praise for evermore ! 

"William Drujimond. 



DEDICATION OF A CHUECH. 

Jeeusaleji, that place divine, 
The vision of sweet peace is named ; 
In heaven her glorious turrets shine— 
Her walls of living stones are framed ; 
While angels guard her on each side- 
Fit company for such a bride. 

She, decked in new attire from heaven. 
Her wedding chamber now descends, 
Prepared in marriage to be given 
To Christ, on whom her joy depends. 



THE PEIEST. 

I WOULD I were an excellent divine 

That had the bible at my fingers' ends ; 
That men might hear out of this mouth of 
mine, 
How God doth make Ilis enemies His 
friends ; 
Eather than with a thundering and long 

prayer 
Be led into presumption, or despair. 

This would I be, and would none other be 

But a religious servant of my God ; 
And know there is none other God but He, 

And willingly to sufter mercy's rod- 
Joy in His grace, and live but in His love, 
And seek my bliss but in the world above. 

And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer, 
For all estates within the state of grace, 

That careful love might never know despair 
Nor servile fear might faithful love deface : 

And this would I both day and night devise 

To make my humble spirit's exercise. 



POEMS OF EELIGION. 



And I would read the rules of sacred life ; 
Persuade the troubled soul to patience ; 
The husband care, aud comfort to the wife, 

To child and servant due obedience ; 
Faith to the fi-iend, and to the neighbor 

peace, 
That love might live, aud quarrels all might 
cease. 

Prayer for the health of all that are diseased, 
Confession unto all that are convicted, 

And patience unto all that are disjileased, 
And comfort unto all that are alfiicted, 

And mercy unto all that have offended, 

And grace to all : that all may be amended. 

Nicholas Breton. 



ON A PEAYER BOOK SENT TO MPvS. 
M. R. 

Lo ! here a little volume, but great book, 

(Fear it not, sweet — 

It is no hypocrite ! ) 
Much larger in itself than in its look ! 

It is — in one rich handful — heaven, and all 

Heaven's royal hosts encamped — thus small 

To prove, that true schools use to tell, 

A thousand angels in one point can dwell. 

It is love's great artillery, 

Which here contracts itself, and comes to lie 

Close couched in your white bosom, and from 

thence, 
As from a snowy fortress of defence, 
Against the ghostly foe to take your part. 
And fortify the hold of your chaste heart. 

It is the armory of light — 

Let constant use but keep it bright, 

You '11 find it yields 
To holy hands and humble hearts 

More swords and shields 
Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. 

Only be sure 

The hands be pure 
That hold these weapons, and the eyes 
Those of turtles — chaste and true, 

Wakeful and wise. 
Here is a friend shall fight for you ; 



Hold but this book before your heart — 
Let prayer alone to play his part. 

But oh ! the heart 
That studies this high art 
Must be a sure house-keeper, 
And yet no sleeper. 

Dear soul, be strong — 

Mercy will come ere long, 

And bring her bosom full of blessings — 

Flowers of never-fading graces. 

To make immortal dressings 

For worthy souls, whose wise embraces 

Store up themselves for Him who is alone 

The spouse of virgins, and the virgin^s soa 

But if the noble bridegroom, when he comes, 
Shall find the wandering heart from 

home. 
Leaving her chaste abode 
To gad abroad — 

Amongst the gay mates of the god of flies 
To take her pleasures, and to play, 
And keep the devil's holiday — 

To dance in the sun-shine of some smiling. 
But beguiling 

Spear of sweet and sugared lies — 

Some slippery pair 

Of false, perhaps as fair, 
Flattering but forswearing eyes — 

Doubtless some other heart 

Will get the start. 

And, stepping in before, 
Will take possession of the sacred store 

Of hidden sweets and holy joys — 

Words which are not heard with ears, 
(These tumultuous shops of noise) 

Effectual whispers, whose still voice 
The soul itself more feels than heai's — 

Amorous languishments, luminous trances, 
Sights which are not seen with eyes — 

Spiritual and soul-piercing glances, 

Whose pure and subtle lightning flies 

Home to the heart, and sets the house on fire, 

And melts it down in sweet desire ; 
Yet doth not stay 

To ask the windows leave to pass that way- 



1 

THE TRUE USE OF MUSIC. V73 


Delicious deaths, soft exhalations 




Of soul, dear and divine annihilations — 


THE TEUE USE OF MUSIC. 


A thousand unknown rites 




Of joys, and rarified delights — 


Listed into the cause of sin, 


An hundred thousand loves and graces, 


Why should a good be evil ? 


And many a mystic thing 


Music, alas ! too long has been 


Which the divine embraces 


Pressed to obey the devil — 


Of the dear Spouse of spirits with them will 


Drunken, or lewd, or hght, the lay 


bring, 


Flowed to the soul's undoing — 


For which it is no shame 


Widened, and strewed with flowers. 


That dull mortality must not know a name. 


way 


Of all this hidden store 


Down to eternal ruin. 


Of blessings, and ton thousand more. 

If, when He come, 
He find the heart from home, 

Doubtless He will unload 
Himself some otherwhere. 

And pour abroad 

His precious sweets 
On the fair soul whom first He meets. 


Who on the part of God will rise, 

Innocent sound recover — 
Fly on the prey, and take the prize, 1 

Plunder the carnal lover — 1 
Strip him of every moving strain, | 

Every melting measure — 
• Music in virtue's cause retain, 

Eescue the holy pleasure ? 


Oh fair ! oh fortunate ! oh rich ! oh dear ! 

Oh happy and thrice liappy she — 

Dear silver-breasted dove, 

Whoe^'er she be — 

Whose early love 

With winged vows 
Makes haste to meet her morning spouse, 
And close with His immortal kisses — 

Happy soul ! who never misses 


Come let us try if Jesus' love 

Will not as well inspire us ; 
This is the theme of those above— 

This upon earth shall fire us. 
Say, if your hearts are tuned to sing. 

Is there a subject greater ? 
Harmony all its strains may bring; 

Jesus' name is sweeter. 

! 


To improve that precious hour. 


Jesus the soul of music is — ! 


And every day 


His is the noblest passion ; 


Seize her sweet prey — 


Jesus's name is joy and peace. 


All fresh and fragrant as He rises. 


Happiness and salvation ; 


Dropping with a balmy shower. 


Jesus's name the dead can raise — 


A delicious dew of spices ! 


Show us our sins forgiven — 


Oh ! let that happy soiil hold fast 
Her heavenly armful ; she shall taste 


Fill us with all the life of grace- 
Carry us up to heaven. 


At once ten thousand paradises — 


Who hath a right like us to sing — 


She shall have power 


Us whom His mercy raises ? 


To rifle and deflower 


Merry our hearts, for Christ is King ; 


The rich and roseal spring of those rare sweets 


Cheerful are all our faces ; 


Which, with a swelling bosom, there she 


W]io of His love doth once partake 


meets — 


He evermore rejoices ; 


Boundless and infinite, bottomless treasures 


Melody in our hearts we make — 


Of pure inebriating pleasures : 


Melody with our voices. 


Happy soul ! she shall discover 




What joy, what bliss, 


He that a sprinkled conscience hath — 


How many heavens at once, it is 


He that in God is merry — 


To have a God become her lover. 


Let him sing psalms, the Spirit saith, 


EiCHAED Crash A.W. 


Joyful and never weary ; 



■li 



POEMS OF KELIGION. 



Offer the sacrifice of praise, 

Hearty and never ceasing — 
Spiritual songs and anthems raise. 

Honor, and thanks, and blessing. 

Then let us in His praises join — 

Triumph in His salvation ; 
Glory ascribe to love divine, 

Worship and adoration ; 
Heaven already is begun — 

Opened in each believer ; 
Only believe, and still sing on : 

Heaven is ours for ever. 

Chaeles "Weslet. 



CENTENNIAL ODE. 

Beeak forth in song, ye trees, 
As, through your tops, the breeze 

Sweeps from the sea ! 
Eor, on its rushing wings, 
To your cool shades and springs, 
That breeze a people brings. 

Exiled though free. 

Ye sister hills, lay doAvn 
Of ancient oaks your crown. 

In homage due • 
These are the great of earth — 
Great, not by kingly birth. 
Great in their well-proved worth — 

Firm hearts and true. 

These are the living lights. 

That from your bold, green heights 

Shall shine afar. 
Till tliey who name the name 
Of freedom, toward the flame 
Come, as the magi came 

Toward Bethlehem's star. 

Gone are those great and good 
Who here in peril stood 

And raised their hymn. 
Peace to the reverend dead ! — 
The light, that on their head 
Two hundred years have shed. 

Shall ne'er grow dim. 



Ye temples, that to God 
Rise where our fathers' trod, 

Guard well your trust: 
The faith that dared the sea ; 
The truth that made them free ; 
Their cherished purity. 

Their garnered dust. 

Thou high and holy One, 
Whose care for sire and son 

All nature fills — 
While day shall break and close, 
While night her crescent shows, 
Oh, let Thy light repose 

On these our hills ! 

John PIERPO^"T. 



THE FIELD OF THE WORLD. 

Sow in the morn thy seed. 
At eve hold not thine hand — 

To doubt and fear give thou no heed — 
Broad-cast it o'er the land. 

Beside all waters sow. 

The highway furrows stock — 
Drop it where thorns and thistles grow, 

Scatter it on the rock. 

The good, the fruitful ground 

Expect not here nor there ; 
O'er hill and dale by plots 't is found : 

Go forth, then, everywhere. 

Thou know'st not which may thrive — 

The late or early sown ; 
Grace keeps the precious germs alive. 

When and wherever strown. 

And duly shall appear. 
In verdure, beauty, strength, 

The tender blade, the stalk, the ear, 
And the full corn at length. 

Thou canst not toil in vain — 
Cold, heat, and moist, and dry 

Shall foster and mature the grain 
For garners in the sky. 



WHAT IS 


PRAYER? T75 




Thence, wlien the glorious end, 


And from that scattered dust, 


The day of God is come. 


Around us and abroad, 




The angel-reapers shall descend. 


Shall spring a plenteous seed 




And heaven cry " Harvest home ! " 


Of witnesses for God. 




James Moxtgomekt. 


The Father hath received 
Their latest living breath ; 








TUE BATTLE-SONG OF GUSTAVUS 


And vain is Satan's boast 




ADOLPHUS. 


Of victory in their death ; 
Still, still, though dead, they speak, 




Fear not, little flock, the foe 


And trumpet-tougued, proclaim 




"Who madly seeks your overthrow, 


To many a wakening land, 




Dread not his rage and power ; 


Tlie one availing name. 




"What though your courage sometimes faints ? 


BIaf.tin Lutheb. 




His seeming triumph o'er God's saints 


Translation of William Joux Fos. 




Lasts but a little hour. 
Be of good cheer ; your cause belongs 








To Ilim who can avenge your wrongs, 








"WHAT LS PRAi'ER? 




Leave it to Ilim, our Lord. 






Though hidden from all our eyes, 






He sees the Gideon who shall rise 


Pkayeb is the soul's sincere desire, 




To save us, and His word. 


Uttered or unexpressed — 
The motion of a hidden fire 
That trembles in the breast. 




As true as God's own word is true, 






Xot earth or hell with all their crew 






Against us shall prevail. 


Prayer is the burthen of a sigh, 




A jest and by- word are they grown ; 


The falling of a tear — 




God is with us, we are His own. 


The upward glancing of an eye, ^ 




Our victory cannot fail. 


"When none but God is near. 




Amen, Lord Jesus ; grant our prayer ! 






Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare ; 


Prayer is the simplest form of speech 
That infant lips can try — 




Fight for us once again ! 






So shall the saints and martyrs raise 


Prayer the sublimest strains that reach 




A miglity chorus to Thy praise, 


The majesty on high. 




"World without end ! Amen. 






Michael Altexbues. (German.) 






Anonymous Translation. 


Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice 
Returning from his ways, 

"While angels in their songs rejoice. 
And cry, " Behold he prays ! " 








THE MARTYES' HYMN". 






Fluxg to the heedless Avinds, 


Prayer is the Christian's vital breath — 




Or on the waters cast. 


The Christian's native air — 




The martyrs' ashes, watched, 


His watchword at the gates of death — 




Sliall gathered be at last ; 


He enters heaven with prayer. 





776 POEMS OF 


1 
RELIGION. 


The saints in prayer appear as one 




In word, and deed, and mind. 


EXHORTATIOX TO PRAYER. 


While with the Father and the Son 


ISToT on a praycrless bed, not on a prayerless 


Sweet fellowship they find. 


bed 




Compose thy weary limbs to rest;. 


Nor prayer is made hy man alone — 


For they alone are blessed 


The Holy Spirit pleads— 


With balmy sleep 


And Jesus, on the eternal throne. 


Whom angels keep ; 


For sinners intercedes. 


Nor, though by care oppressed. 




Or anxious sorrow, 




Or thought in many a coil perplexed 


Thou by whom we come to God— 


For coming morrow. 


The life, the truth, the way ! 


Lay not thy head 


The path of prayer Thyself hast trod ; 


On prayerless bed. 


Lord, teach us how to pray ! 




James Montgomery. 


For who can tell, when sleep thine eyes shall 




close, 




That earthly cares and woes 
To thee may e'er return ? 






Arouse, my soul ! 


«0H, YET WE TRUST." 


Slumber control. 




And let thy lamp burn brightly ; 


On, yet we trust that somehow good 


So shall thine eyes discern 


Will be the final goal of ill, 


Things pure and sightly; 


To pangs of nature, sins of will. 


Taught by the Spirit, learn ^ 


Defects of doubt and taints of blood ; 


Never on praj^erless bed 




To lay thine unblest head. 


That nothing walks with aimless feet ; 




That not one life shall be destroyed. 


Hast thou no pining want, or wish, or care, 


Or cast as rubbish to the void. 


That calls for holy prayer ? 


When God hath made the pile complete; 


Has thy day been so bright 




That in its flight 




There is no trace of sorrow ? 


That not a worm is cloven in vain ; 


And thou art sure to-morrow 


That not a moth with vain desire 


Will be like this, and more 


Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire. 


Abundant ? Dost thou yet lay up thy store. 


Or but subserves another's gain. 


And still make plans for more ? 




Thou fool ! this very night 




Thy soul may wing its flight. 


Behold! we know not any thing ; 




I can but trust that good shall faU 




At last — far off— at last, to all — 


Hast thou no being than thyself more dear, 


And every winter change to spring. 


That ploughs the ocean deep, 




And when storms sweep 




The wintry, lowering sky. 


So runs my dream ; but wliat am I ? 


For whom thou wak'st and weepest ? 


An infant crying in the night— 


Oh, when thy pangs are deepest. 


An infant crj-ing for the fight — 


Seek then the covenant ark of prayer; 


And with no language but a cry. 


For He that slumbereth not is there — 


Alfred Tennyson. 


His ear is open to thy cry. 



M A R Y . 



777 



Oh, then, on prayerless bed 
liay not thy thoughtless head. 

Arouse thee, weary soul, nor yield to slum- 
ber, 
Till in conamunion blest 

With the elect ye rest — * 
Those souls of countless number; 

And with them raise 

The note of praise, 
Eeaching from earth to heaven — 

Chosen, redeemed, forgiven ; 

So lay thy happy head, 

Prayer-crowned, on blessed bed. 

Makgaket Meecee. 



HYMN". 



"When the angels all are singing 
All of glory ever-springing. 
In the ground of heaven's high graces, 
"Where all virtues have their places. 
Oh that my poor soul were near them. 
With an humble faith to hear them ! 



Then should faith, in love's submission. 
Joying but in mercy's blessing, 
Where that sins are in remission 
Sing the joyful soul's confessing — 
Of her comforts high commending. 
All in glory never-ending. 



But, ah wretched sinful creature ! 
IIow should the corrupted nature 
Of this wicked heart of mine 
Think upon that love divine, 
Tliat doth tune the angels' voices 
While the host of heaven rejoices? 



No ! the song of deadly sorrow 
In the night that hath no morrow — 
And their pains are never ended 
That have heavenly powers offended — 
Is more fitting to the merit 
Of ray foul infected spirit. 
102 



Yet while mercy is removing 
All the sorrows of the loving, 
IIow can faith be full of blindness 
To despair of mercy's kindness — 
While the hand of heaven is giving 
Comfort from the ever-living ? 

No, my soul, be no more sorry — 
Look unto that life of glory 
Which the grace of faith regai'deth. 
And the tears of love rewardeth — 
Where the soul the comfort gettetli 
That the angels' music setteth. 

There — when thou art well conducted. 
And by heavenly grace instructed 
How the faithful thoughts to fashion 
Of a ravished lover's passion — 
Sing with saints, to angels nighest, 
Hallelujah in the highest ! 

Gloria in exceUis Domino ! 

Nicholas Beeton. 



MAEY. 

Her eyes are homes of silent prayer ; 
Nor other thought her mind admits 
But — he was dead, and there he sits 

And He that brought him back is there. 

Then one deep love doth supersede 
All other, when her ardent gaze 
Eoves from the living brother's face, 

And rests upon the life indeed. 

All subtle thought, all curious fears. 

Borne down by gladness so complete, 
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's 
feet 

With costly spikenard and with tears. 

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, 
Whose loves in higher love endure ; 
What soiils possess themselves so 
pure. 

Or is there blessedness like theirs ? 

Alfeed Tekktson. 



118 



POEMS OF RELIGION 



JOY AND PEACE IN" BELIEVING. 

Sometimes a light surprises 

The Christian while he sings ; 
It is the Lord, who rises 

"With healing in His wings. 
When comforts are declining, 

He grants the soul again 
A season of clear shining, 

To cheer it after rain. 

In holy contemijlation. 

We sweetly then pursue 
The theme of God's salvation, 

And find it ever new ; 
Set free from present sorrow. 

We cheerfully can say, 
E'en let the unknown to-morrow 

Bring with it what it may ! 

It can bring with it nothing 

But He will bear us through ; 
Who gives the lilies clothing 

Will clothe His people too. 
Beneath the spreading heavens, 

No creature but is fed ; 
And He who feeds the ravens 

Will give His children bread. 

The ^line nor fig-tree neither 

Their wonted fruit should bear, 
Though all the fields should wither. 

Nor flocks nor herds be there : 
Yet God the same abiding 

His praise shall tune my voice, 
For, while in Him confiding, 

I cannot but rejoice. 

William Cowper. 



CHARITY. 

Could I command, with voice or pen. 
The tongues of angels and of men, 
A tinkling cymbal, sounding brass. 
My speech and preaching would surpass ; 
"Vain were such eloquence to me, 
Witliout the grace of charity. 

Could I the martyr's flame endure, 
Give all my goods to feed the poor — 
Had I the faith from Alpine steep 
To hurl the mountain to the deep — 



What were such zeal, such power, to me 
Without the grace of charity ? 

Could I behold with prescient eye 
Things future, as the tilings gone by — 
Could I all earthly knowledge scan. 
And mete out heaven with a span — 
Poor were the chief of gifts to me 
Without the chiefest — charity. 

Charity suflers long, is kind — 
Charity bears a humble mind — 
Eejoices not when ills befoll. 
But glories in the weal of all ; 
She hopes, believes, and envies not, 
Nor vaunts, nor murmurs o'er her lot. 

The tongues of teachers shall be dumb, 
Prophets discern not things to come, 
Knowledge shall vanish out of thought, 
And miracles no more be wrought ; 
But charity shall never fail — 
Her anchor is within the veil. 

James Montgombet 



FOR BELIEVERS. 
Tiiou hidden source of calm repose, 

Thou all-sufiicient love divine. 
My help and refuge from my foes. 

Secure I am if Thou art mine ! 
And lo ! from sin, and grief, and shame, 
I hide me, Jesus, in Thy name. 

Thy mighty name salvation is. 
And keeps my happy soul above ; 

Comfort it brings, and power, and peace, 
And joy, and everlasting love ; 

To me, with Thy dear name, are given 

Pardon, and holiness, and heaven. 

Jesus, my all in all Thou art — 
My rest in toil, my ease in pain ; 

The medicine of my broken heart ; 
In war my peace ; in loss my gain ; 

My smile beneath the tyrant's frown ; 

In shame my glory and my crown ; 

In want my plentiful supply ; 

In weakness my almighty power ; 
In bonds my perfect liberty ; 

My light in Satan's darkest hour ; 
In grief my joy unspeakable ; 
My life in death, my heaven in hell. 

Chaeles Weslkt, 



DIVINE LOVE. 



vro 



DESIEING TO LOVE. 

LOVE divine, liow sweet Thou art ! 
"When shall I find my willing heart 

All taken up by Thee ? 

1 thirst, and faint, and die to prove 
The greatness of redeeming love, — 

The love of Christ to me. 

Stronger His love than death or hell ; 
Its riches ai'e unsearchable ; 

The first-born sons of light 
Desire in vain its depth to see — 
They cannot reach the mystery, 

The length, and breadth, and height. 

God only knows the lova of God — 
()h that it now were shed abroad 

In this poor stony beart ! 
For love I sigh, for love I pine ; 
This only portion. Lord, be mine — 

Be mine this better part. 

Oh that I could for ever sit 
With Mary at the Master's feet ! 

Be this my happy choice — 
My only care, delight, and bliss. 
My )oy, my heaven on earth, be this — 

To hear the bridegroom's voice. 

Oh that, witbhiimbled Peter, I 
Could weep, believe, and thrice reply, 

My faithfulness to prove ! 
Thou knowest, for all to Thee is known— 
Thou knowest, Lord, and Thou alone- 

Thou knowest that Thee I love. 

Oh that I could, with favored John, 
Eecliue my w^eary head upon 

The dear Kedeemer's breast ! 
From care, and sin, and sorrow free, 
Give me, O Lord, to find in Tliee 

My everlasting rest ! 

Thy only love do I require — 
Nothing in earth beneath desire, 

Nothing in heaven above ; 
Let earth and heaven and all things go- 
Give me Thy only love to know, 

Give me Thy only love ! 

Charles Wesley. 



DIVINE LOVE. 

Tnou hidden love of God ! whose height, 
Whose depth unfathomed, no man knows — 

I see from far Thy beauteous light. 
Inly I sigh for thy repose. 

My heart is pained ; nor can it be 

At rest till it finds rest in Thee. 

Thy secret voice invites me still 

The sweetness of Thy yoke to prove ; 

And fain I would ; but though my will 
Seem fixed, yet wide my passions rove ; 

Yet hindrances strew all the way — 

I aim at Thee, yet from Thee stray. 

'T is mercy all, that Thou hast brought 
My mind to seek her peace in Thee ! 

Yet while I seek, but find Thee not. 
No peace my wandering soul shall see. 

Oh when shall all my wanderings end, 

And aU my steps to Theeward tend ? 

Is there a thing beneath the sun 

That strives with Thee my heart to share 1 
Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone — 

The Lord of every motion there ! 
Then shall my heart from earth be free. 
When it hath found repose in Thee. 

Oh hide this self from me, that I 
No more, but Christ in me, may live ! 

My vile affections crucify, 

Nor let one darling lust survive ! 

In all things nothing may I see, 

Nothing desire or seek, but Thee 

Love, Thy sovereign aid impart 
To save me from low-thoughted care ; 

Chase this self-will through all my heart. 
Through all its latent mazes there ; 

Make me Thy duteous child, that I 

Ceaseless may "Abba, Father," cry! 

Ah, no ! ne'er will I backward tui'n — 
Thine wholly. Thine alone I am ; 

Thrice happy he who views with scorn 
Earth's toys, for Thee his constant flame. 

Oh help, that I may never move 

From the blest footsteps of Thy love ! 



780 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Each moment draw from earth away 
My heart, that lowly waits Thy call ; 

Si:)eak to my inmost soul, and say 
"I am thy love, thy God, thy all ! " 

To feel Thy power, to hear Thy voice, 

To taste Thy love, he all my choice. 

Gbehakd Teesteegen. (German.) 
Translation of John Wesley. 



LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

In the hour of my distress. 
When temptations me oppress, 
And when I my sins confess, 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When I lie within my hed, 
Sick at heart, and sick in head. 
And with doubts discomforted. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the house doth sigh and weep. 
And the world is drowned in sleep. 
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the artless doctor sees 
No one hope, hut of his fees. 
And his skill runs on the lees, 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 

When his potion and his pill. 
His or none or little skill, 
Meet for nothing, but to kill — 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the passing hell doth toll. 
And the Furies, in a shoal. 
Come to fright a parting soul. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the tapers now burn blue, 
And the comforters are few, 
And that number more than true, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the priest his last hath prayed, 
And I nod to what is said 
Because my speech is now decayed, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 



When, God knows, I 'm tost about 
Either with despair or doubt, 
Yet before the glass be out, 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the tempter me pursu'th 
With tlie sins of all my youth. 
And half damns me with untruth. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 

When the flames and hellish cries 
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes. 
And all terrors me surprise. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 

When the judgment is revealed. 
And that opened which was sealed — 
When to Thee I have appealed, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

Robert Heerick. 



OH ! FEAR NOT THOU TO DIE. 

Oh fear not thou to die- - 

Far rather fear to. live ! — for life 

Has thousand snares thy feet to try. 

By peril, pain, and strife. 

Brief is tlie work of death ; 

But life — the spirit shrinks to see 

How full, ere heaven recalls the breath, 

The cup of woe may be. 

Oh fear not thou to die — 

No more to suffer or to sin — 

No snare without, thy faith to try — 

No traitor heart within ; 

But fear, oh rather fear 

The gay, the light, the changeful scene, 

The flattering smiles that greet thee here. 

From heaven tliy heart to wean. 

On fear not thou to die — 

To die and be that blessed one 

Who in the bright and beauteous sky 

May feel his conflict done — 

May feel that never more 

The tear of grief, of shame, shall come, 

For thousand wanderings from the power 

Who loved and called thee home. 

ANONVMora 



THE VALEDICTION. '781 




Or is it youthful rage, 


THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 


Or childish toying ? 




Or is decrepit age 


Vital spark of heavenly flame, 


Worth man's enjoying? 


Quit, oh quit this mortal frame ! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying — 
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! 
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife. 
And let me languish into life ! 


Is it deceitful wealth, 


Got by care, fraud, or stealth. 


Or short, uncertain health, 


Which thus befool men ? 




Or do the serpent's lies. 


Hark ! they ^vhispcr : angels say. 


By the world's flatteries 
And tempting vanities, 


Sister spirit, come away ! 
"SYhat is this absorbs me quite, 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 


Still overrule them? 


Or do they in a dream 


•J 1 •/ O 7 


Sleep out their season ? 


Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? 






Or borne down by lust's stream, 


Tell me, my soul ! can this be death ? 




Which conquers reason? 


The world recedes— it disappears ; 


The silly lambs to-day 


Heaven opens on my eyes ; my ears 


Pleasantly skip and play, 


With sounds seraphic ring : 


Whom butchers mean to slay, 
Perhaps to-morrow ; 


Lend, lend your wings ! I mount, I fly ! 


grave ! where is thy victory ? 


In a more brutish sort 


O death ! where is thy sting ? 


Do careless sinners sport, 


Alexandee Pope. 


Or in dead sleep still snort, 




As near to sorrow ; 
Till life, not well begun. 






Be sadly ended. 


THE VALEDICTION. 


And the web they have spun 




Can ne'er be mended. 


Vain world, what is in thee ? 






What is the time that 's gone, 


What do poor mortals see 




"Which should esteemed be 


And what is that to come ? 




Is it not now as none ? 


Worthy their pleasure ? 
Is it the mother's womb. 




The present stays not. 




Time posteth, ohhow fast! 


Or sorrows which soon come, 
Or a dark grave and tomb ; 
Which is their treasure ? 


Unwelcome death makes haste ; 


None can call back what 's past — 


HoAv dost thou man deceive 


Judgment delays not ; 


By thy vain glory? 
Why do they still believe 


Though God bring in the light, 

Sinners awake not — 
Because hell 's out of sight, 


Thy false history? 


They sin forsake not. 


Is it children's book and rod, 


Man walks in a vain show ; 


The laborer's heavy load. 


They know, yet will not know ; 


Poverty undertrod. 


Sit still when they should go — 


The world desireth ? 


But run for shadows, 


Is it distracting cares. 


While they might taste and know 


Or heart-tormenting fears, 


The living streams that flow. 


Or pining grief and tears, 


And crop the flowers that grow. 


Which man requireth ? 


In Christ's sweet meadows. 



782 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Life 's better slept away 

Than as they nse it ; 
In sin and drunken play 

Yain men abuse it. 

Malignant world, adieu! 
Where no foul vice is new — 
Only to Satan true, 

God still offended ; 
Though taught and warned by God, 
And His chastising rod. 
Keeps still the way that 's broad, 

Never amended. 
Baptismal vows some make. 

But ne'er perform them ; 
If angels from heaven spake, 

'Twould not reform them. 

They dig for hell beneath, 
They labor hard for death, 
Eun themselves out of breath 

To overtake it. 
Hell is not had for naught, 
Danmation 's dearly bought. 
And with great labor sought— 

They '11 not forsake it. 
Their souls are Satan's fee — 

He '11 not abate it. 
Grace is refused that 's free — 

Mad sinners hate it. 

Vile man is so perverse, 

It 's too rough work for verse 

His badness to rehearse. 

And show his folly ; 
He '11 die at any rates- 
He God and conscience hates, 
Yet sin he consecrates, 

And calls it holy. 
The grace he '11 not endure 

Which would renew him — 
Constant to all, and sure, 

AVhich will undo him. 

His head comes first at birth, 
And takes root in the earth — 
As nature shooteth forth, 

His feet grow highest, 
To kick at all above. 
And spurn at saving love ; 
His God is in his grove. 

Because it 's nighest ; 



He loves this world of strife. 
Hates that would mend it ; 

Loves death that 's called life, 
Fears what would end it. 

All that is good he 'd crush, 
Blindly on sin doth rush — 
A pricking thorny bush, 

Such Christ was crowned with ; 
Their worship 's like to this — 
The reed, the Judas kiss : 
Such the religion is 

That these abound with ; 
They mock Christ with the knee 

Whene'er they bow it — 
As if God did not see 

The heart, and know it. 

Of good they choose the least. 
Despise that which is best — 
The joyful, heavenly feast 

Which Christ would give them ; 
Heaven hath scarce one cold wish ; 
They live unto the flesh ; 
Like swine they feed on wash — 

Satan doth drive them. 
Like weeds, they grow in mire 

Which vices noui'ish — 
Where, warmed by Satan's fir«. 

All sins do flourish. 

Is this tlie world men choose, 
For which they heaven refuse, 
And Christ and grace abuse. 

And not receive it? 
Shall I not guilty be 
Of this in some degree. 
If hence God would me free. 

And I 'd not leave it ? 
My soul, from Sodom fly, 

Lest wrath there find thee \ 
Thy refuge-rest is nigh — 

Look not behind thee ! 

There 's none of this ado, 
NonB of the hellish crew ; 
God's promise is most true — • 

Boldly believe it. 
My friends are gone before. 
And I am near the shore ; 
My soul stands at the door — 

O Lord, receive it I 



THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE. 



It trusts Christ and His merits — 

Tlie dead He raises ; 
Join it with blessed spirits 

"Who sing Thy praises. 

EicnAED Baxter. 



HYMN". 



"Whe^t rising from the bed of death, 
O'erwhehned with guilt and fear, 

I see my Maker face to face. 
Oh, how shall I appear ? 

If yet while pardon may be found, 

And mercy may be sought, 
My heart with inward horror shrinks. 

And trembles at the thought — 

"When Thou, O Lord, shalt stand dis- 
closed 

In majesty severe, 
And sit in judgment on my soul, 

Oh, how shall I appear ? 

But Thou hast told the troubled mind 

"Who does her sins lament. 
The timely tribute of her tears 

Shall endless woe prevent. 

Then see the sorrows of my heart 

Ere yet it be too late. 
And hear my Saviour's dying groans 

To give those sorrows weight. 

For never shall my soul despair 

Her pardon to procure, 
"Who knows Thine only Son has died 

To make her pardon sure. 

Joseph Addison. 



HYMN". 



Beother, tliou art gone before us. 

And thy saintly soul is flown 
"Where tears are wiped from every eye, 

Ani sorrow is unknown — 
From the burden of the flesh, 

And from care and sin released, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling. 

And the weary are at rest. 



The toilsome way thou 'st travelled o'er. 

And hast borne the heavy load ; 
But Christ hath taught thy wandering feet 

To reach His blest abode. 
Thou 'rt sleeping now, like Lazarus, 

On his Father's faithful breast. 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest. 

Sin can never taint thee now, 

Nor can doubt thy faith assail ; 
Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ 

And the Holy Spirit fail. 
And there thou 'rt sure to meet the good, 

"Whom on earth thou lovest best, 
"Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary arc at rest. 

" Earth to earth, and dust to dust," 

Thus the solemn priest hath said — 
So we lay the turf above thee now. 

And seal thy narrow bed ; 
But thy spirit, brother, soars away 

Among the faithful blest, 
"Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest. 

And when the Lord shall summon us 

"Whom thou now hast left behind. 
May we, untainted by the world. 

As sure a welcome find ; 
May each, like thee, depart in peace, 

To be a glorious, happy guest 
"Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest. 

Heney Hart Milman. 



THOU ART GONE TO THE GEAVE. 

Tnoxr art gone to the grave — we no longer 
deplore thee, 
Though sorrows and darkness encompass 
the tomb ; 
The Saviour has passed through its portals 
before thee. 
And the lamp of His love is thy guide 
tlirough the gloom. 



784 



POEMS OF HELIGION. 



Thou art gone to the grave — we no longer 
behold thee, 
Nov tread the rough path of the world by 
thy side ; 
But the wide arms of mercy are spread to en- 
fold thee, 
And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has 
died. 

Tliou art gone to the grave — and, its mansion 
forsaking, 
Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered 
long, 
But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on 
thy waking. 
And the song which thou heard'st was the 
seraphim's song. 

Thou art gone to the grave — but 't were wrong 
to deplore thee, 
"When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, 
thy guide ; 
He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will 
restore thee, 
Where death hath no sting, since the Sa- 
viour hath died. 

Keginald IIebek. 



DEATH. 



Au, lovely appearance of death ! 

What sight upon earth is so fair ? 
Not all the gay pageants that breathe 

Can with a dead body compare ; 
With solemn delight I survey 

The corpse, when the spirit is fled — 
In love with the beautiful clay. 

And longing to lie in its stead. 

JIow blest is our brother, bereft 

Of all that could burden his mind ! 
How easy the soul that has left 

This wearisome body behind ! 
Of evil incapable, thou. 

Whose relics with envy I see — 
No longer in misery now, 

No longer a sinner like me. 



This earth is afiected no more 

With sickness, or shaken with pain ; 
The war in the members is o'er, 

And never shall vex him again ; 
No anger henceforward, or shame, 

Shall redden this innocent clay ; 
Extinct is the animal flame, 

And passion is vanished away. 

This languishing head is at rest — 

Its thinking and aching are o'er ; 
This quiet, immovable breast 

Is heaved by afiiiction no more ; 
This heart is no longer the seat 

Of trouble, and torturing pain ; 
It ceases to flutter and beat — 

It never shall flutter again. 

The lids he so seldom could close, 

By sorrow forbidden to sleep — 
Sealed up in their mortal repose. 

Have strangely forgotten to weep ; 
The fountains can yield no supplies — 

These hollows from water are free ; 
The tears are all wiped from these eyes.. 

And evil they never shall see. 

To mourn and to sufier is mine, 

While bound in a prison I bi'eathe. 
And still for deliverance pine, 

And press to the issues of death ; 
What now with my tears I bedew 

Oh might I this moment become ! 
My spirit created anew. 

My flesh be consigned to the tomb ! 

ClIAKLES WE3LE\ 



A DIEGE. 

"Earth to earth, and dust to dust ! '' 

Here the evil and the just. 

Here the youthful and the old. 

Here the fearful and the bold. 

Here the matron and the maid, 

In one silent bed ai'e laid ; 

Here the vassal and the king 

Side by side lie withering ; 

Here the sword and sceptre rust — 

" Earth to earth, and dust to dust I "' 



FOR A WIDOWER OR WIDOW. 



Age on age shall roll along 
O'er this pale and mighty throng ; 
Those that wept them, they that weep, 
All shall with these sleepers sleep ; 
Brothers, sisters of the worm. 
Summer's sun, or winter's storm, 
Song of peace, or battle's roar 
Ne'er shall break their slumbers more ; 
Death shall keep his sullen trust — 
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust ! " 

But a day is coming fast — 
Earth, thy mightiest and thy last ! 
It shall come in fear and wonder, 
Heralded by trump and thunder ; 
It shall come in strife and toil, 
It shall come in blood and spoil ; 
It shall come in empire's groans. 
Burning temples, ruined thrones ; 
Then, ambition, rue thy lust ! 
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust ! " 

Then shall come the judgment sign ; 
In the east the king shall shine. 
Flashing from heaven's golden gate — 
Thousands, thousands, round His state — 
Spirits with the crown and plume ; 
Tremble then, thou sullen tomb ! 
Heaven shall open on thy sight, 
Earth be turned to living light — 
Kingdom of the ransomed just — 
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust." 

Then thy mount, Jerusalem, 
Shall be gorgeous as a gem ! 
Then shall in the desert rise 
Eruits of more than Paradise ; 
Earth by angel feet be trod — 
One great garden of her God ! 
Till are dried the martyr's tears, 
Through a thousand glorious years ! 
Now in hope of Him we trust — 
*' Earth to earth, and dust to dust." 

Geokge Ceoly. 



103 



FOR A WIDOWER OR WIDOW 

DEPEIVED OF A LOVING YOKEFELLOW. 

How near me came the hand of death, 
When at my side he struck my dear, 
And took away the precious breath 
Which quickened my beloved peer ! 
How helpless am I thereby made — 
By day how grieved, by night how sad 
And now my life's delight is gone, 
Alas, how am T left alone ! 

The voice which I did more esteem 
Than music in her sweetest key, 
Those eyes which unto me did seem 
More comfortable than the day — 
Those now by me, as they have been, 
Shall never more be heard or seen; 
But what I once enjoyed in them 
Shall seem hereafter as a dream. 

All earthly comforts vanish thus — 
So little hold of them have we 
That we from them or they from us 
May in a moment ravished be ; 
Yet we are neither just nor wise 
If present mercies we despise. 
Or mind not how there may be made 
A thankful use of what we had. 

I therefore do not so bemoan, 
Though these beseeming tears I drop, 
The loss of my beloved one 
As they that are deprived of hope ; 
But in expressing of my grief 
My heart receiveth some relief, 
And joyeth in the good I had, 
Although my sweets are bitter made. 

Lord, keep me faithful to the trust 
Which my dear spouse reposed in me ! 
To him now dead preserve me just 
In all that should performed be ; 

For though our being man and wifo 

Extendeth only to this life. 
Yet neither life nor death should end 
The being of a foithful friend. 



786 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Those helps which I through him enjoyed, 
Let Thy continual aid supply — 
That, though some hopes in him are void, 
I always may on Thee rely ; 

And whether I shall wed again. 

Or in a single state remain, 
Unto Thine honor let it be. 
And for a blessing unto me. 

George "Witiiee. 



THEY AEE ALL GONE. ' 

They are all gone into the world of light, 

And I alone sit lingering here ! 
Their very memory is fair and bright. 
And my sad thoughts doth clear ; 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast. 

Like stars upon some gloomy grove — 
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest 
After the sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory. 

Whose light doth trample on my days — 
My days which are at best but dull and hoary. 
Mere glimmering and decays. 

O holy hope ! and high humility — 

High as the heavens above ! 
These are your walks, and you have showed 
them me 
To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous death —the jewel of the just — 

Shining nowhere but in the dark ! 

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 

Could man outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest 
may know, 
At first sight, if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair dell or grove he sings in now. 
That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams 

Call to the soul when man doth sleep, 
So some strange thoughts transcend our 
wonted themes, 
And into glory peep. 



If a star were confined into a tomb, 

Her captive flames must needs burn there ; 
But when the hand that locked her up gives 
room, 
She '11 shine through all the sphere. 

Father of eternal life, and all 

Created glories under Thee ! 
Eesume thy spirit from this world of thrall 
Into true liberty. 

Either disperse these mists, which blot and 
fill 
My perspective stiU as they pass ; 
Or else remove me hence unto that hill 
Where I shall need no glass. 

Hbnky Vaughan. 



EACH SOEROWFUL MOUENER. 

Each sorrowful mourner, be silent 1 
Fond mothers, give over your weeping ! 
Nor grieve for those pledges as perished — 
This dying is life's reparation. 

Now take him, O earth, to thy keeping. 
And give him soft rest in thy bosom ; 
I lend thee the frame of a Christian — 
I entrust thee the generous fragments. 

Tliou holily guard the deposit — 
He will well. He will surely, require it, 
Who, forming it, made its creation 
The type of His image and likeness. 

But until the resolvable body 
Thou recallest, O God, and reformest. 
What regions, unknown to the mortal, 
Dost Thou will the pure soul to inhabit ? 

It shall rest upon Abraham's bosom. 
As the spirit of blest Eleazar, 
Whom, afar in that Paradise, Dives 
Beholds from the flames of his torments. 

We follow Thy saying, Redeemei-, 
Whereby, as on death Thou wast trampling) 
The thief, Thy companion, Thou willedst 
To tread in Thy footsteps and triumph. 



GOD THE EVERLASTING LIGHT OF THE SAINTS ABOVE. 181 


To the faithful the bright way is open, 


Beyond the ebbmg and the flowing, 


Ilenceforw-ard, to Paradise leading, 


Beyond the coming and the going, 


And to that blessed grove we have access 


I shall be soon. 


Whereof man was bereaved by the serpent. 


Love, re^t, and home! 




Sweet hope ! 


Thou leader and guide of Thy people, 


Lord, tarry not, hut come. 


Give command that the soul of Thy servant 


• 


May have holy repose in the country 


Beyond the parting and the meeting 


Whence, exUe and erring, he wandered. 


I shall be soon ; 




Beyond the farewell and the greeting, 


We will honor the place of his resting 


Beyond this pulse's fever beating. 


With violets and garlands of flowers. 


I shall be soon. 


And v.ill sprinkle inscription and marble 


Love, rest, and home! 


With odors of costliest fragrance. 


Sweet hope ! 


Atjeelius Prudentics. (Latin.) 


Lord, tarry not, hut come. 


Translation of JonN Mason Neale. 






Beyond the frost chain and the fever 
I shall be soon ; 




A LITTLE WHILE. 


Beyond the rock waste and the river, 




Beyond the ever and the never, ; 


Beyond the smiling and the weeping 


I shall be soon. 


I shall be soon ; 


Love, rest, and home! 


Beyond the waking and the sleeping, 


Sweet hope ! 


Beyond the sowing and the reaping, 


Lord, tarry not, hut' come. 


I shall be soon. 


HOEATICS BONAU. 


Zove^ rest, and home ! 




Sweet Tiope ! 


* 


Lord^ tarry not, hut come. 






GOD THE EVEELASTING LIGHT OF 




THE SAINTS ABOVE. 


Beyond the blooming and the fading 




I shall be soon ; 


Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, 


Beyond the shining and the shading. 


With all your feeble light ; 


Beyond the hoping and the dreading, 


Farewell, thou ever-changing moon. 


I shall be soon. 


Pale empress of the night. 


Love, rest, and Jiome! 




Sweet liope ! 


And thou, refulgent orb of day, 


Lord, tarry not, iut come. 


In brighter flames arrayexl. 




My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere, 


Beyond the rising and the setting 


No more demands thine aid. 


I shall be soon ; 




Beyond the calming and the fretting, 


Ye stars are but the shining dust 


Beyond remembering and forgetting, 


Of my di\'ine abode, 


I shall be soon. 


The pavement of those heavenly courts 


Love, rest, and liome ! 


Where I shall reign with God. 


Sweet liopc ! 




Lord, tarry not, hut come. 


The Father of eternal light 




Shall there His beams display. 


Beyond the gathering and the strowing 


Nor shall one moment's darkness mix 


I shall be soon ; 


With that unvaried day. 

i 



V88 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


No more the droiJS of piercing grief 




Shall swell into mine eyes, 


THE NEW JERUSALEM; 


Nor the meridian sun decline 


OR, THE soul's BEEAXniNG AFTER THE HEAV 


Amidst those brighter skies. 


ENLT COUNTRY. 


There ail the millions of His saints 


"Since Christ's fair truth needs no man's art, 


Shall in one song unite, 


Talie this rude song in better part." 


And each the bliss of all shall view 




"With infinite ddight. 


MOTHER dear, Jerusalem, 


Philip Doddeidge. 


When shall I come to thee ? 




When shall my sorrows have an end — 
Thy joys when shall I see ? 




THE HEAVENLY CANAAN. 


happy harbor of God's saints ! 




sweet and pleasant soil ! 


There is a laud of pure delight, 


In thee no sorrows can be found — 


"Where saints immortal reign ; 


No grief, no care, no toil. 


Infinite day excludes the night, 


In thee no sickness is at all. 


And pleasures banish pain. 


No hurt, nor any sore ; 




There is no death nor ugly night, 


There everlasting spring abides, 


But life for evermore. 


And never-withering flowers ; 


No dimming cloud o'ershadows thee, 


Death, like a narrow sea, divides 


No cloud nor darksome night, 


This heavenly land from ours. 


But every soul shines as the sun — 




For God himself gives light. 


Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood 


There lust and lucre cannot dwell, 


Stand dressed in living green ; 


There envy bears no sway ; 


So to the Jews old Canaan stood, 


There is no hunger, thirst, nor heat. 


While Jordan rolled between. 


But pleasures every w^ay. 




Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 


But timorous mortals start and shrink 


Would God I were in thee ! 


To cross this narrow sea, 


Oh ! that my sorrows had an end. 


And linger shivering on the brink, 


Thy joys that I might see ! 


And fear to launch away. 






No pains, no pangs, no grieving grief, 




No woeful night is there ; 


Oh ! could we make our doubts remove. 


No sigh, no sob, no cry is heard — 
No well-away, no fear. 


Those gloomy doubts that rise, 


And see the Canaan that we love 


Jerusalem the city is 


"With unbeclouded eyes — 


Of God our king alone ; 




The lamb of God, the light thereof, 


Could we but climb where Moses stood. 


Sits there upon His throne. 


And view the landscape o'er. 




Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold 


God ! that I Jerusalem 


flood, 


With speed may go behold ! 


Should fright us from the shore. 


For why ? the pleasures there abound 


Isaac Watts. 


Which here cannot be told. 




Thy turrets and thy pinnacles 




With carbuncles do shine — 
With jasper, pearl, and chrysolite, 






Surpassing pure and fine. 



THE NEW JERUSALEM. 



789 



Thy houses are of ivory, 

Thy windows crystal clear, 
Thy streets are laid with beaten gold — 

There angels do appear. 
Thy walls are made of precious stone, 

Thy bulwarks diamond square. 
Thy gates are made of orient pearl — 

O God ! if I were there ! 

Within thy gates nothing can come 

That is not passing clean ; 
No spider's web, no dirt, nor dust, 

No filth may there be seen. 
Jehovah, Lord, now come away, 

And end my griefs and plaints — 
Take me to Thy Jerusalem, 

And place me with Thy saints ! 

Who there are crowned with glory great. 

And see God face to face, 
Tliey triumph still, and aye rejoice — 

Most happy is their case. 
But we that are in banishment. 

Continually do moan ; 
We sign, we mourn, we sob, we weep — 

Perpetually we groan. 

Our sweetness mixed is with gall. 

Our pleasures are bnt pain. 
Our joys not worth the looking on — 

Our sorrows aye remain. 
But there they live in such dehght, 

Such pleasure and such play, 
That unto them a thousand years 

Seems but as yesterday. 

O my sweet home, Jerusalem ! 

Thy joys when shall I see — 
The king sitting npon His throne. 

And thy felicity ? 
Thy vineyards, and thy orchards. 

So wonderfully rare. 
Are furnished with all kinds of fruit. 

Most beautifiilly fair. 

Thy gardens and thy goodly walks. 

Continually are green ; 
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers 

As nowhere else are seen. 
There cinnamon and sugar grow. 

There nard and balm abound ; 
No tongue can tell, no heart can think,' 

The pleasures tliere are found. 



There nectar and ambrosia spring — 

There music 's ever sweet ; 
Thei'e many a fair and dainty thing 

Are trod down under feet. 
Quite tlirougli the streets, with pleasant 
sound. 

The flood of life doth flow ; 
Upon the banks, on every side, 

The trees of life do grow. 

These trees each month yield ripened 
fruit — 

For evermore they spring ; 
And all the nations of the world 

To thee their honors bring. 
Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place 

Full sore I long to see ; 
Oh ! that my soitows had an end, 

That I might dwell in thee ! 

There David stands, with harp in hand, 

As master of the choir ; 
A thousand times that man were blest 

That might his music hear. 
There Mary sings "Magnificat," 

With tunes surpassing sweet ; 
And all the virgins bear their part, 

Singing about her feet. 

" Te Deum " doth St. Ambrose sing, 

St. Austin doth the like ; 
Old Sinaeon and Zacharie 

Have not their songs to seek. 
There Magdalene hath left her moan, 

And cheerfully doth sing, 
With all blest saints whose harmony 

Through every street doth ring. 

Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 

Thy joys fain would I see; 
Come quickly. Lord, and end my grief, 

And take me home to Thee ; 
Oh ! paint Thy name on my forehead, 

And take me hence away. 
Til at I may dwell with Thee in bliss, 

And sing Thy praises aye. 

Jerusalem, the happy home — 

Jehovah's throne on high ! 
O sacred city, queen, and wife 

Of Christ eternally ! 



■TOO 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



comely qiieeu witli glory clad, 
TTith honor and degree, 

All fair thou art, exceeding bright- 
No spot there is in thee ! 

1 long to see Jerusalem, 

The comfort of lis all ; 
For thou art fair and beautiful — 

None ill can thee befall. 
In thee, Jerusalem, I say, 

ISTo darkness dare appear — 
No night, no shade, no winter foul — 

No time doth alter there. 

No candle needs, no moon to shine. 

No glittering star to light ; 
For Christ, the king of righteousness. 

For ever shineth bright. 
A lamb unspotted, white and pure, 

To thee doth stand in lieu 
Of light — so great the glory is 

Thine heavenly king to view. 

He is the King of kings, beset 

In midst His servants' sight ; 
And they, His happy household all. 

Do serve Him day and night. 
There, there the choir of angels sing — 

There the supernal sort 
Of citizens, which hence are rid 

From dangers deep, do sport. 

There be the prudent prophets all, 

The apostles six and six, 
The glorious martyrs in a row. 

And confessors betwixt. 
There doth the crew of righteous men 

And matrons all consist — 
Young men and maids that here on earth 

Their pleasures did resist. 

The sheep and lambs, that hardly 'scaped 

The snare of death and hell. 
Triumph in joy eternally, 

"Whereof no tongue can tell ; 
And though the glory of each one 

Doth differ in degree, 
Yet is the joy of all alike 

And common, as we see. 

There love and charity do reign, 

And Christ is all in all, 
"Whom they most perfectly behold 

In joy celestial. 



They love, they praise — they praise, they 
love; 

They "Holy, holy," cry; 
They neither toil, nor faint, nor end, 

But laud continually. 

Oh ! happy thousand times were 1, 

If, after wretched days, 
I might with listening ears conceive 

Those heavenly songs of praise. 
Which to the eternal king are sung 

By happy wights above — 
By saved souls and angels sweet, 

Whc love the God of love. 

Oh ! passing happy were my state, 

Might I be worthy found 
To wait upon my God and king. 

His praises there to sound ; 
And to enjoy my Christ above, 

His favor and His grace, 
According to His promise made, 

Which here I interlace : 

" Father dear," quoth he, " let them 

Which Thou hast put of old 
To me, be there where lo ! I am — 

Thy glory to behold ; 
Which I with Thee, before the world 

'^Vas made in perfect wise, 
Have had — from whence the fountain great 

Of glory doth arise." 

Again : "If any man will serve 

Thee, let him follow me ; 
For where I am, he there, right sure. 

Then shall my servant be." 
And still : "If any man loves me. 

Him loves my father dear. 
Whom I do love — to him myself 

In glory will appear." 

Lord, take away my miseiy, 

That then I may be bold 
With Thee, in Thy Jerusalem, 

Thy glory to behold ; 
And so in Zion see my king. 

My love, my Lord, my all — 
Where now as in a glass I see. 

There face to face I shall. 



THE FUTURE TEACE AXD GLORY OF THE CIIURCn. 



vol 



Oil ! blessed are the pure in lieart — 

Their sovereign they shall see ; 
O ye most hapity, heavenly wights, 

Which of God's household be ! 
O Lord, with speed dissolve my bands, 

These gins and fetters strong; 
For I have dwelt within the tents 

Of Kedar over long. 

Yet search me, Lord, and find me out ! 

Fetch me Thy fold unto, 
That all Thy angels may rejoice, 

While all Thy will I do. 
O mother dear! Jerusalem! 

When shall I come to thee ? 
When shall my sorrows have an end, 

Thy joys when shall I see? 

Yet once again I pray Thee, Lord, 

To quit me from all strife. 
That to Thy hill I may attain. 

And dwell there all my life — 
With cherubims and scraphims 

And holy souls of men, 
To sing Thy praise, O God of hosts ! 

Forever and amen ! 

A^tONY.MOTJS. 



PEACE. 



Mt soul, there is a country 

Afar beyond the stars. 
Where stands a winged sentry. 

All sbUful in the wars. 
There, above noise and danger, 

Swee^ peace sits crowned with smiles. 
And One born in a manger 

Commands the beauteous files. 
He is thy gracious friend, 

And (0 my soul awake !) 
Did in pure love descend. 

To die here for thy sake. 
If thou canst get but thither, 

There grows the flower of peace — 
Tlie rose that cannot wither-— 

Tliy fortress, and thy ease. 
Leave, then, thy foolish ranges ; 

For none can thee secure. 
But One who never changes— 

Thy God, thy life, thy cure. 

Henry VAucnAX. 



OF HEAVEN. 

BEAUTKOus God ! uncircumscribed treasure 
Of an eternal pleasure ! 
Thy throne is seated far 
Above the highest star. 
Where Thou preparest a glorious place, 
Within the brightness of Thy face. 
For every spirit 
To inherit 

That builds his hopes upon Thy merit, 
And loves Thee with a holy charity. 
What ravished heart, seraphic tongue or eyes 
Clear as the morning rise, 
Can speak, or think, or see 
That bright eternity, 

Where the great king's transparent throne 
Is of an entire jasper stone ? 
There the eye 
0' the chrysolite. 
And a sky 

Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase — 
And above all. Thy holy face — 
Makes an eternal charity. 
When Thou Thy jewels up dost bind, that day 
Eemember us, we pray — ■ 
That where the beryl lies. 
And the crystal 'bove the skies, 
There Thou mayest appoint us place 
Within the brightness of Thy face — 
And our soul 
In the scroll 

Of life and blissfulness enroll. 
That we may praise Thee to eternity. Al- 
lelujah ! 

Jeremy Tatlos. 



THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF 
THE CHURCH. 

Hear what God the Lord hath spoken : 

" O my people, faint and few, 
Comfortless, afflicted, broken. 

Fair abodes I build for you ; 
Thorns of heartfelt tribulation 

Shall no more perplex your ways ; 
You shall name your walls salvation. 

And your gates shall all be praise. 



792 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



" There, like streams that feed the garden, 

Pleasures without end shall flow ; 
For the Lord, your faith rewarding. 

All His bounty shall bestow. 
Still in undisturbed possession 

Peace and righteousness shall reign ; 
Never shall you feel oppression. 

Hear the voice of war again. 

" Ye no more your suns descending, 

"Waning moons, no more shall see ; 
But, your griefs for ever ending, 

Find eternal noon in me. 
God shall rise, and, shining o'er you, 

Change to day the gloom of night ; 
He, the Lord, shall be your glory, 

God your everlasting light." 

William Cowper. 



THE WILDERNESS TRANSFOPvMED. 

Amazing, beauteous change ! 
A world created new ! 
My thoughts with transport range, 
The lovely scene to view ; 

In all I trace. 

Saviour divine. 

The work is Thine — 

Be Thine the praise ! 

See crystal fountains play 
Amidst the burning sands ; 
The river's winding way 
Shines through the thirsty lands; 

ISTew grass is seen. 

And o'er the meads 

Its carpet spreads 

Of living green. 

Where pointed brambles grew, 
Entwined with horrid thorn, 
Gay flowers, for ever new, 
The painted fields adorn — 

The blushing rose 

And lily there, 

In imion fair 

Their sweets disclose. 



Where the bleak mountain stood 
All bare and disarrayed. 
See the wide-branching wood 
Diffuse its grateful shade ; 

Tall cedars nod. 

And oaks and pines. 

And elms and vines 

Confess the God. 

The tyrants of the plain 
Their savage chase give o'er — 
No more they rend the slain. 
And thirst for blood no more ; 

But infant hands 

Fierce tigers stroke, 

And lions yoke 

In flowery bands. 

Oh when. Almighty Lord, 
Shall these glad scenes arise, 
To verify Thy word. 
And bless our wondering eyes ! 

That earth may raise. 

With all its tongues. 

United songs 

Of ardent praise. 

Philip Doddkidgb 



ALL WELL, 

No seas again shall sever, 

No desert intervene ; 
No deep, sad-flowing river 

Shall roll its tide between. 

No bleak cliffs, upward towering, 
Shall bound our eager sight ; 

No tempest, darkly lowering. 
Shall wrap us in its night. 

Love, and unsevered union 
Of soul with those we love, 

Nearness and glad communion, 
Shall be our joy above. 

No dread of wasting sickness, 
No thought of ache or pain. 

No fretting hours of weakness, 
Shall mar our peace again. 



VENI, CREATOR. T9& 


No death, our homes o'crshadhig, 


Yet to Thee my soul should raise 


Shall e'er our harps unstring ; 


Grateful vows and solemn praise, 


For all is life unfading 


And, when every blessing 's flown, 


In presence of our king. 


Love Thee — for Thyself alone. 


IIOEATITO BONAR. 

• 


Anna L^titia BA.r.BAULD 


PEAISE TO GOD. 


♦ 

VENI, CREATOR! 


Pkaise to God, immortal praise, 
For the love that crowns our days — 
Bounteous source of every joy, 


Ceeator Spirit, by whose aid 

The world's foundations first were laid, 


Let Thy praise our tongues employ ! 


Come, visit every pious mind ; 
Come, pour Thy joys on human kind ; 




From sin and sorrow set us free. 


For the blessings of the field. 
For the stores the gardens yield, 


And make Thy temples worthy Thee ! 


For the vine's exalted juice, 
For the generous olive's use : 


source of uncreated light. 
The Father's promised Paraclete ! 




Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire. 


Flocks that whiten all the plain, 


Our hearts with heavenly love inspii'e j 


Yellow sheaves of ripened grain, 


Come, and Thy sacred unction bring, 


Clouds that drop their fattening dews, 


To sanctify us while we sing ! 


Suns that temperate warmth diffuse — 






Plenteous of grace, descend from high. 


All that spring, with bounteous hand. 


Rich in Thy sevenfold energy ! 


Scatters o'er the smiling land ; 


Thou strength of His almighty hand 


AU that liberal autumn pours 


Whose power does heaven and earth com- 


From her rich o'erflowing stores : 


mand ! 




Proceeding Spirit, our defence, 


These to Thee, my God, we owe — 


Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense. 


Source whence all our blessings flow ! 


And crown'st Thy gifts with eloquence! 


And for these my soul shall raise 




Grateful vows and solemn praise. 


Refine and purge our earthly parts ; 




But oh, inflame and fire our hearts ! 


Yet should rising whirlwinds tear 


Our frailties help, our vice control — 


From its stem the ripening ear — 


Submit the senses to the soul ; 


Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot 


And when rebellious they are grown. 


Drop her green untimely fruit — 


Then lay Thy hand, and hold them down. 


Should the vine put forth no more. 


Chase from our minds the infernal foe, 


Nor the olive yield her store — 


And peace, the fruit of love, bestow ; 


Though the sickening flocks should fall. 


And, lest our feet should step astray, 


And the herds desert the stall — 


Protect and guide us in the way. 


Should Thine altered hand restrain 


Make us eternal truths receive, 


The early and the latter rain, 


And practise aU that we believe ; 


Blast each opening bud of joy, 


Give us Thyself, that we may see 


And the rising year destroy ; 


The Father, and the Son, by Thee. 


104 





794 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Immortal honor, endless fame, 
Attend the almighty Father's name ! 
Tlie Saviour Son he glorified, 
"Who for lost man's redemption died ! 
And equal adoration be, 
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee! 

St. Ambeose. (Latin.) 
rarapbrase of Joun Dktden. 



HYMN OF PRAISE. 

Lo ! God is here ! let us adore, 
And own how dreadful is this place ; 

Let all within us feel His power, 
And silent bow before His face ! 

Who know His power. His grace who prove, 

Serve Him with awe, with reverence love. 

Lo ! God is here ! Him day and night 
Th' united choirs of angels sing ; 

To Him, enthroned above all height. 
Heaven's host their noblest praises bring ; 

Disdain not. Lord, our meaner song, 

Who praise Thee with a stammering tongue. 

Gladly the toils of earth we leave, . 

Wealth, pleasure, fame, for Thee alone ; 
To Thee our will, soul, flesh, we give — 

Oh take ! oh seal them for Thine own ! 
Thou art the God, Thou art the Lord — 
Be Thou by all Thy works adored ! 

Being of beings ! may our praise 

Thy courts with grateful fragrance fill ; 

Still may we stand before Thy face, 
StUl hear and do Thy sovereign will ; 

To thee may all our thoughts arise — 

Ceaseless, accepted sacrifice. 

In Thee we move ; all things of Thee 
Are full. Thou source and life of all ; 

Thou vast unfathomable sea 1 

(Fall prostrate, lost in wonder fall, 

Ye sons of men ! For God is man !) 

All may we lose, so Thee Ave gain ! 



As flowers their opening leaves display, 
And glad drink in the solar fire. 

So may we catch Thy every ray, 
So may Thy influence us inspire — 

Thou beam of the eternal beam ! 

Thou purging fire. Thou quickening fiame 1 

Gerhard Teesteegen. (German.) 
Translation of JonN Wesley. 



THE LORD THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 

The Lord is my shepherd, nor want shall I 
know ; 
I feed in green pastures, safe-folded I rest ; 
He leadeth my soul where the still waters 
flow. 
Restores me when wandering, redeems 
when oppressed. 

Through the valley and shadow of death 
though I stray. 
Since Thou art my guardian no evil I fear; 
Thy rod shall defend me. Thy staff be my 
stay ; 
No harm can befall with my comforter 
near. 

In the midst of aflliction my table is spread ; 
With blessings unmeasured my cup run- 
neth o'er; 
With perfume and oil Thou anointest my 
head; 
Oh ! what shall I ask of Thy Providence 
more? 

Let goodness and mercy, my bountiful God! 

Still follow my steps till I meet Thee above : 
I seek, by the path which my forefathers trod, 

Through the land of their sojourn, Thy 

kingdom of love. 

James Montgomery. 



SONNET. 

TuE prayers I make will then be sweet in- 
deed, 
If Thou the spirit give by which I pray ; 
ATy unassisted heart is barren clay, 
That of its native self can nothing feed. 



THE POET'S HYMN FOR HIMSELF. 



195 



Of good and pious works Thou art the seed, 

That quickens only -where thou say'st it may. 

Unless Thou show to us Thine own true way, 

No man can find it ; Father ! thou must lead. 

Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into 

my mind 

By which such virtue may in me be bred 

That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread ; 

The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, 

That I may have the power to sing of Thee, 

And sound Thy praises everlastingly. 

Michael Angelo. (Italian.) 
Trauslation of Samuel Wordswokth. 



PRAISE. 

Come, oh come ! with sacred lays 
Let us sound the Almighty's praise ! 
Hither bring, in true consent, 
Heart, and voice, and instrument. 
Let the orpharion sweet 
With the harp and viol meet ; 
Let your voices tune the lute ; 
Let not tongue nor string be mute ; 
Nor a creature dumb be found 
That hath either voice or sound ! 

Let such things as do not live. 
In still music praises give ! 
Lowly pipe, ye worms that creep 
On the earth, or in the deep ; 
Loud aloft ycur voices strain. 
Beasts, and monsters of the main ; 
Birds, your warbling treble sing ; 
Clouds, your peals of thunder ring ; 

Sun and moon, exalted higher, 
- And you, stars, augment the choir ! 

Come, ye sons of human race. 
In this chorus take your place ! 
And amid this mortal throng 
Be you masters of the song. 
Angels and celestial powers, 
Be the noblest tenor yours ! 
Let, in praise of God, the sound 
Pain a never-ending round, 

That our holy hymn may be 

Everlasting as is He. 



From the earth's vast hollow womb 
Music's deepest bass shall come ; 
Sea and floods, from shore to shore, 
Shall the counter-tenor roar ; 
To this concert, when we sing, 
Whistling winds, your descant bring, 
Which may bear the sound above 
Where the orb of fire doth move. 
And so climb from sphere to sphere, 
Till our song the Almighty hear ! 

So shall He, from heaven's high tower, 
On the earth His blessings shower; 
All this huge wide orb we see 
Shall one choir, one temple be ; 
There our voices we will rear. 
Till we fill it every where. 
And enforce the fiends, that dwell 
In the air, to sink to hell. 

Then, oh come ! with sacred lays 
Let ns sound the Almighty's praise. 

Geokge Witheb. 



THE POET'S HYMN FOR HIMSELF. 

Geeat Almighty, king of heaven, 
And one God in persons three- 
Honor, praise, and thanks be given 
Now and evermore to Thee, 

Who hast more for Thine prepared 
Than by words can be declared ! 

By Thy mercies I was taken 

From the pits of miry clay. 

Wherein, wretched and forsaken, 

Helpless, hopeless too, I lay ; 
And those comforts Thou didst give me 
Whereof no man can deprive me. 

By Thy grace the passions, troubles, 
And what most my heart oppressed. 
Have appeared as airy bubbles. 
Dreams, or sufferings but in jest ; 
And with profit that hath ended 
Which my foes for harm intended. 

Those afflictions and those terrors, 
Which did i)lagues at first appear, 
Did but show me what mine erroni 
And mine imperfections were ; 



79(5 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


But they wretched could not make me, 


III. 


Nor from Thy affection shake me. 


Hear, Lord and God, my cries ! 




Mark my foes' unjust abusing; 


Therefore as Thy blessed Psalmist, 


And illuminate mine eyes, 


When his warfares had an end, 


Heavenly beams in them infusing — 


And his days were at the calmest, 


Lest my woes, too great to bear, 


Psalms and hymns of praises penned — 


And too infinite to number, 


So my rest, by Thee enjoyed. 


Eock me soon, 'twixt hope and fear, 


To Thy praise I have employed. 


Into death's eternal slumber — 


Lord ! accept my poor endeavor, 


IT. 


And assist Thy servant so, 


Lest my foes their boasting make : 


In well doing to persever, 


Spite of right, on him we trample ; 


That more perfect I may grow — 


And a pride in mischief take, 


Every day more prudent, meeker. 


Hastened by my sad example. 


And of Thee a faithful seeker. 


v. 


Let no passed sin or folly. 


As for me, I '11 ride secure 


Nor a future fault in me. 


At Thy mercy's sacred anchor ; 


Make unfruitful or unholy 


And, undaunted, will endure 


What I offer now to Thee; 


Fiercest storms of wrong and rancour. 


But with favor and compassion 


VI, 


Cure and cover each transgression. 






These black clouds Avill overblow — 


And with Israel's royal singer 


Sunshine shall have his returning ; 


Teach me so faith's hymns to sing — 


And my grief-dulled heart, I know, 


So Thy ten-stringed law to finger. 


Into mirth shall change his mourning. 


And such music thence to bring — 


Therefore I '11 rejoice, and sing 


That by grace I may aspire 


Hymns to God, in sacred measure, 


To Thy blessed angel choir ! 


Who to happy pass will bring 


George Wither. 


My just hopes, at His good pleasure. 


♦ 


Fkancis Davison. 


PSALM XIII. 






PSALM XVIII. 


T. 


PAET FIRST. 


Lord, how long, how long wilt Thou 




Quite forget, and quite neglect me ? 


God, my strength and fortitude, of force I 


How long, with a frowning brow, 


must love Thee ! 


Wilt Thou from Thy sight reject me? 


Thou art my castle and defence in my neces- 




sity— 


II. 


My God, my rock in whom I trust, the 


How long shall I seek a way 


worker of my wealth 


Forth this maze of thoughts perplexed. 


My refuge, buckler, and my shield, the horn 


Where my grieved mind, night and day. 


of all my health. 


Is with thinking tired and vexed ? 




How long shall my scornful foe, 


When I sing laud unto the Lord most worthy 


On my fall his greatness placing. 


to be served, 


Build upon my overthrow, 


Then from my foes I am right sure that I 


And be graced by my disgracing ? 


shall be preserved. 



PSALM XXIII. 797 


The pangs of deatli did compass rae, and 


K"or shall Thy spreading gospel rest 


bound me everj'where ; 


Till through the world Thy truth has run ; 


TLe flowing waves of wickedness did put me 


Till Christ has all the nations blest 


in great fear. 


That see the light or feel the sun. 


The sly and subtle snares of hell were round 


Great sun of righteousness, arise ! 


about me set ; 


Bless the dark world with heavenly light ! 


And for my death there was prepared a deadly 


Thy gospel makes the simple wise — 


trapping net. 


Thy laws are pure. Thy judgments right. 


I, thus beset with pain and grief, did pray to 




God for grace ; 


Thy noblest wonders here we view, 


And he forthwith did hear my plaint out of 


In souls renewed, and sins forgiven ; 


His holy place. 


Lord, cleanse my sins, my soul renew, 




And make Thy word my guide to heaven .' 


Such is His power that in His wrath lie made 


ISAAO WA.TT8. 


the earth to quake — 




Tea, the foundation of the mount of Basan 




for to shake. 


PSALM XXIII. 


And from His nostrils came a smoke, when 




kindled was His ire ; 


I. 


And from His mouth came kindled coals of 


God, who the universe doth hold 


hot consuming fire. 


In His fold, 




Is my shepherd, kind and heedful — 


The Lord descended from above, and bowed 


Is my shepherd, and doth keep 


the heavens high ; 


Me, His sheep, 


And underneath His feet He cast the darkness 


Still supplied with all things needful. 


of the sky. 




On cherubs and on cherubim s full royally He 


II. 


rode ; 


He feeds me in His fields, which been 


And on the wings of all the winds came fly- 


Fresh and green, 


ing all abroad. 


Mottled with spring's flowery painting — 


Thomas Steknhold. 


Thro' which creep, with murmuring crooks, 




Crystal brooks. 
To refresh my spirit's fainting. 




PSALM XIX. 


in. 


The heavens declare Thy glory. Lord ! 


When my soul from heaven's way 


In every star Thy wisdom shines ; 


Went astray. 


But when our eyes behold Thy word. 


With earth's vanities seduced. 


We read Thy name in fairer lines. 


For His name's sake, kindly. He 




Wandering me 


Tlie rolling sun, the changing light. 


To His holy fold reduced. 


And nights and days Thy power confess; 




But the blest volume Thou hast writ 


IV. 


Reveals Thy justice and Thy grace. 


Yea, though I stray through death's vale, 




Where His pale 


Sun, moon, and stars convey Thy praise 


Shades did on each side enfold me, 


Round the whole earth, and never stand ; 


Dreadless, having Tliee for guide, 


So, when Thy truth begun its race 


Should I bide ; 


It touched and glanced on every land. 


For Thy rod and staflf uphold me. 



798 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Thou my board with messes large 

Dost surcharge ; 
My bowls full of wine Thou pourest ; 
And before mine enemies' 

Envious eyes 
Balm upon my head Thou showerest. 



Neither dures Thy bounteous grace 

For a space ; 
But it knows no bound nor measure ; 
So my days, to my life's end, 

I shall spend 
In Thy courts with heavenly pleasure. 
Feanois Datison. 



PSALM XXIII. 

Lo, my Shepherd's hand divine ! 
Want shall never more be mine. 
In a pasture fair and largo 
He shall feed His happy charge, 
And my couch with tenderest care 
'Midst the springing grass prepare. 

When I faint with summei-'s heat. 
He shall lead my weary feet 
To the streams that, still and slow, 
Tlirongh the verdant meadows flow. 
He my soul anew shall frame ; 
And, His mercy to proclaim. 
When through devious paths I stray. 
Teach my steps the better way. 

Thougli the dreary vale I tread 
By the shades of death o'erspread ; 
There I walk from terror free. 
While my every wish I see 
By Thy rod and staff supplied — 
This my guard, and that my guide. 

While my foes are gazing on, 
Thou Thy favoring care hast shown ; 
Thou my plenteous board hast spread ; 
Thou with oil refreshed my head ; 
Filled by Thee, my cup o'erflows ; 
For Thy love no limit kaows. 
Constant, to my latest end. 
This my footsteps shall attend. 
And shall bid Thy hallowed dome 
Yield me an eternal home. 

James Merrick. 



PSALM XXX. 



LoED, to Thee, while I am living, 
WiU I sing hymns of thanksgiving ; 
For Tliou hast drawn me from a gulf of woes, 

So that my foes 

Ho not deride me. 

II. 
When Thine aid. Lord, I implored, 
Then by Thee was I restored ; 
My mournful heart with joy thou straight 
didst fill. 

So that none ill 
Doth now betide me. 

ni. 
My soul, grievously distressed, 
And with death well-nigh oppressed, 
From death's devouring jaws, Lord, Thou 
didst save. 

And from the grave 
My soul deliver. 

IV. 

Oh, all ye that e'er had savor 
Of God's everlasting favor, 
Come ! come and help me grateful praises 
sing 

To the world's king. 
And my life's giver. 

V. 

For His anger never lasteth. 
And His favor never wasteth. 
Though sadness be thy guest in sullen niglit, 
The cheerful light 
Will cheerful make thee. 

VI. 

Lulled asleep with charming pleasures, 
And base, earthly, fading treasures. 
Rest, peaceful soul, said I, in happy state- 
No storms of fate 
Shall ever shake thee I 

VII. 

For Jehovah's grace unbounded 
Hath my greatness surely founded ; 
And hath my state as sti'ongly fortified, 

On every side, 

As rocky mountains. 



rSALM XLVI. 



199 



But away His face God turned — 
I was troubled then, and mourned ; 
Then thus I poured forth prayers and doleful 
cries. 

With weeping eyes 
Like watery fountains : 



In my blood there is no proiit ; 

If I die what good comes of it ? 
Shall rotten bones or senseless dust express 
Thy thanlrfulness, 
And works of wonder ? 



Oh then hear me, prayers forthpouring. 
Drowned in tears, from moist eyes show- 
ering ; 
Have mercy. Lord, on me ; my burden ease. 
If Thee it please. 
Which I groan under ! 

XI. 

Thus prayed I, and God, soon after. 
Changed my mourning into laughter ; 
Mine ashy sackcloth, mark of mine annoy, 
To robes of joy 
Eftsoons lie turned. 



Therefore, harp and voice, cease never, 
But sing sacred lays for ever 
To great Jehovah mounted on the skies. 
Who dried mine eyes 
When as I mourned. 

Fr.ANcis- Davison. 



PSALM XLVI. 

God is the refuge of His saints. 
When storms of sharp distress invade ; 

Ere we can offer our complaints. 
Behold Him present with His aid. 

Let mountains from their seats be hurled 
Down to the deep, and buried there- 
Convulsions shake the solid world ; 
Our faith shall never yield to fear. 



Loud may the troubled ocean roar ; 

In sacred peace our souls abide, 
While every nation, every shore, 

Trembles and dreads the swelling tide. ' 

There is a stream whose gentle flow 

Supplies the city ^f our God — 
Life, love, and joy still gliding through, 

And watering our divine abode ; 

That sacred stream Thine holy word, 
That all our raging fear controls ; 

Sweet peace Thy promises afford. 
And give new strength to fainting souls. 

Si on enjoys her monarch's love, 
Secure against a threatening hour ; 

Nor can her firm foundations move, 

Built on His truth, and armed with power. 
IsAAo Watts. 



PSALM XLVI. 

A SAFE stronghold our God is still, 
A trusty shield and weapon ; 
He '11 help us clear from all the ill 
That hath us now o'ertaken. 
The ancient prince of hell 
Hath risen with purpose fell ; 
Strong mail of craft and power 
He weareth in this hour — 

On earth is not his fellow. 

By force of arms we nothing can — 
Full soon were we down-ridden ; 
But for us fights the proper man. 
Whom God himself hath bidden. 
Ask ye, Who is this same ? 
Christ Jesus is His name. 
The Lord Zebaoth's son — 
He and no other one 

Shall conquer in the battle. 

And were this world all devils o'er, 
And watching to devour us, 
We lay it not to heart .so sore — 
Not they can overpower us. 
And let the prince of ill 
Look grim as e'er he will. 
He harms us not a whit ; 
For why ? His doom is writ — 
A word shall quickly slay him. 



800 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


God's word, for all their craft and force, 


Say : How wonderful Thy deeds ! 


Oue moment will not linger ; 


Lord, Thy power all power exceeds! 


But, spite of hell, shall have its course — 


Conquest on Thy sword doth sit— 


'T is written by His finger. 


Trembling foes tlirough fear submit. 


And though they take our life, 


Let the many-peopled earth, 


Goods, honor, children, wife, 


All of higb and humble birth, 


Yet is their profit small ; 


Worship our eternal king — 


These things shall vanish all — 


Hymns unto His honor sing. 


The city of God remaineth. 


Come, and see what God hath wrought— 


llAKTiN Ltjtiieb. (German.) 


Terrible to human thought ! 


Translation of Thomas Caklyle. 


He the billows did divide. 




Walled witb waves on either side, 
While we passed safe and dry ; 




PSALM LXV. 


Then our souls were rapt with joy. 




Endless His dominion — 


SECOND PART. 


All beholding from His throne. 


' T 13 by Thy strength the mountains stand, 
God of eternal power ! 


Let not those who hate us most, 


Let not the rebellious, boast. 


The sea grows calm at Thy command. 


Bless the Lord ! His praise be sung 


And tempests cease to roar. 


While an ear can hear a tongue ! 




He our feet establisheth ; 


Thy morning light and evening shade 


He our souls redeems from death. 


Success! -^e comforts bring; 


Lord, as silver purified. 


Thy plenteous fruits make harvest glad — 


Thou hast with affliction tried ; 


Thy flowers adorn the spring. 


Thou hast driven into the net, 




Burdens on our shoulders set. 


Seasons and times, and moons and hours. 


Trod on by their horse's hooves — 


Heaven, earth, and air, are Thine ; 


Theirs whom pity never moves — 


AYhen clouds distil in fruitful showers. 


We through fire, with flames embraced, 


The author is divine. 


We through raging floods have passed ; 


Those wandering cisterns in the sky, 


Yet by Thy conducting hand 


Borne by the winds around, 


Brought into a wealthy land. 


With watery treasures well supply 


I will to Thy house repair, 


The furrows of the ground. 


Worship, and Thy power declare — 




Off"ering3 on Tliy altar lay. 


The thirsty ridges drink their fill. 


All n)y vows devoutly pay. 


And ranks of corn appear ; 


Uttered with my heart and tongue. 


Thy ways abound with blessings still — 


When oppressed with powerful wrong. 


Thy goodness crowns the year. 


Fatlings I will sacrifice ; 


Isaac Watts. 


Incense in perfume s^iall rise — • 


' 


Bullocks, sliaggy goats, and rams. 




Offbred up in sacred flames. 


PSALM LXYI. 


. You who great Jehovah fear, 




Come, oh come, you blest ! and hear 


Happy sons of Israel, 


What for me the Lord hath wrought, 


Who in pleasant Canaan dwell, 


Then when near to ruin bi'ought. 


Fill the air with shouts of joy — 


Fervently to Him I cried ; 


Shouts redoubled from the sky. 


I His goodness magnified. 


Sing the great Jehovah's praise, 


If I vices sliould affect, 


Trophies to His glory raise ; 


Would not He my prayers reject? 



rSALM c. 



801 



But the Lord my prayers liatli heard 
'\Vhich my tongue with tears i)rK.-rerred. 
Source of mercy be Thou blest, 
That hast granted my request ! 

George Sandys. 



psal:n[ lxxit. 

FIRST TAET. 

Great God, whose universal sway 
The known and unknown worlds obey, 
Now give the kingdom to Thy Sou — 
Extend His power, exalt His throne ! 

Thy sceptre well becomes His hands — 
All heaven submits to his commands ; 
His justice shall avenge the poor, 
And pride and rage prevail no more. 

With power he vindicates the just. 
And treads the oppressor in the dust ; 
His worship and His fear shall last 
Till hours and years, and time, be past. 

As rain on meadows newly mown. 
So shall he send His influence down; 
His grace on fainting souls distils. 
Like heavenly dew on thirsty hills. 

The lieathen lands that lie beneath 
The shades of overspreading death, 
Eevive at His first dawniug light. 
And deserts blossom at the sight. 

The saints shall flourish in His days, 
Dressed in the robes of joy and praise; 
Peace, like a river, from his throne, 
Shall flow to nations yet unknown. 

Isaac Watts. 



PSALM xcn. 

Tuou who art enthroned above — 
Thoa by whom we live and move ! 
Oh how sweet, liow excellent, 
Is 't, with tongue and heart's consent, 
Thankful hearts, and joyful tongues. 
To renown Thy name in songs — 
105 



When the morning paints the skies, 
When the sparkling stars arise, 
Thy high favors to rehearse. 
Thy firm faith in grateful verse ! 

Take the lute and violin ; 
Let the solemn harp begin — 
Listruments strung with ten strings — 
While the silver cymbal riugs. 

From Thy works my joy proceeds ; 
How I triumph in Thy deeds ! 
Who Thy wonders can express? 
All Thy thoughts are fathomless — 
Hid from men, in knowledge blind — ■ 
Hid from fools to vice inclined. 
Who that tyrant sin obey. 
Though they spring like flowers in May, 
Parched with heat, and nipped with frost, 
Soon shall fade, forever lost. 

Lord, Thou art most great, most high — ■ 
Such from all eternity. 
Perish shall Thy enemies — 
Eebels that against Thee rise. 
All who in their sins delight •' 
Shall be scattered by Thy miglit ; 
But Thou shalt exalt my horn, 
Like a youthful unicorn ; 
Fresla and fragrant odors shed 
On Thy crowned prophet's head. 

I shall see my foe's defeat, 
Shortly hear of their retreat ; 
But the just, like palms, shall flourish 
Which the plains of Judah nourish — 
Like tall cedars mounted on 
Cloud-ascending Lebanon. 
Plants set in Thy court, below 
Spread their roots and upwards grow ; 
Fruit in their old age shall bring — 
Ever fat and flourishing. 
This God's justice celebrates — 
He, my rock, injustice hates. 

Gbokge Sakdts. 



PSALM C. 

With one consent let all the earth 
To God their cheerful voices raise — 

Glad homage pay with awful mirth, 
And sing before Him songs of praise- 



802 



POEMS OF RELIGION 



Conviiiceu. tliat He is God alone, 
From whom both we and all proceed — 

We whom He chooses for His own, 
The flock whicli He vouchsafes to feed. 

Oil enter then His temple gate, 
Tlieuce to liis com-ts devoutly press ; 

And still your grateful hymns repeat, 
And stiU His name with praises bless. 

For He 's the Lord supremely good, 

His mercy is forever sure ; 
Eis truth, which all times firmly stood, 

To endless ages shall endure. 

Tate and Beady. 



PSALM CXVIL 

Feom all that dwell below the skies 
Let the Creator's praise arise ; 
Let the Redeemer's name be sung 
Through every land, by every tongue. 

Eternal are Thy mercies. Lord — 
Eternal truth attends Thy word ; 
Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore. 
Till suns shall rise and set no more. 

Isaac Watts. 



ps^y^M oxxx. 

Feom the deeps of grief and fear, 
Lord ! to Thee my soul repairs ; 
From Thy heaven bow down Thine ear- 
Let Thy mercy meet my prayers : 
Oh! ifThoumark'st 
What's done amiss, 
"What soul so pure 
Can see Thy bliss? 

But with Thee sweet mercy stands, 
Sealing pardons, working fear; 
Wait, my soul, wait on His hands — 
Wait, mine eye ; oh ! wait, mine ear ! 
If He His eye 

Or tongue affords, 
Watch all His looks. 
Catch all His words ! 



As a watchman waits for day, 
And looks for light, and looks again, 
"\^'hen the niglit grows old and gray, 
To be relieved he calls amain ; 
So look, so wait, 

So long mine eyes, 
To see my Lord, 
My sun, arise. 

Wait, ye saints, wait on our Lord — 
For from His tongue sweet mercy flows. 
Wait on His cross, wait on His word — 
Upon that true redemption grows ; 
He will redeem 

His Israel 
From sin and wrath. 
From death and hell. . 

PuiNEAS Fletchee. 



HYMN, FROM PSALM OXLVIIL 

Begik, my soul, the exalted lay, 
Let each enraptured thought obey, 

And praise the Almighty's name ; 
Lo ! heaven and earth, and seas and skies, 
In one melodious concert rise. 

To swell the inspiring theme. 

Ye fields of light, celestial plains. 
Where gay transporting beauty reigns, 

Ye scenes divinely fair ! 
Your maker's wondrous power proclaim— 
Tell how He formed your shining frame. 

And breathed the fluid air. 

Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound ! 
While all the adoring thrones around 

His boundless mercy sing : 
Let every hstening saint above 
Wake aU the tuneful soul of love, 

And touch the sweetest string. 

Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir; 
Thou dazzling orb of liq^uid fire, 

The mighty chorus aid ; 
Soon as gray evening gilds the plain, 
Thou, moon, protract the melting strain, 

And praise Him in the shade. 



PSALM CXLVIII. 



803 



Thou lieaven of heavens, His vast abode, 
Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God! 

Who called yon worlds from night ; 
" Ye shades, dispel ! " — the Eternal said, 
At once the involving darkness fled, 

And nature sprung to light. 

Whate'er a blooming world contains 
That wings the air, that skims the plains, 

United praise bestow ; 
Ye dragons, sound His awful name 
To heaven aloud ; and roar acclaim. 

Ye swelling deeps below ! 

Let every element rejoice ; 

Ye thunders, burst with awful voice 

To Him who bids you roll ; 
His praise in softer notes declare, 
Each whispering breeze of yielding air. 

And breathe it to the soul ! 

To Him, ye graceful cedars, bow ; 
Ye towering mountains, bending low. 

Your great Creator own ! 
Tell, when affrighted nature shook. 
How Sinai kindled at His look, 

And trembled at His frown. 

Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale. 
Ye insects fluttering on the gale. 

In mutual concourse rise ; 
Crop the gay rose's vermeil bloom, 
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume, 

In incense to the skies ! 

Wake, all ye mountain tribes, and sing — 
Ye plumy warblers of the spring, 

Harmonious anthems raise 
To Him who shaped your finer mould. 
Who tipped your glittering wings with 
gold, 

And tuned your voice to i^raise ! 

Let man — by nobler passions swayed — 
The feeling heart, the judging head, 

In heavenly praise employ ; 
Spread His tremendous name around, 
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the 
sound, 

Tlie general burst of joy. 



Yc, whom the charms of grandeur please, 
Nursed on the downy lap of ease, 

Fall prostrate at His throne ; 
Ye princes, rulers, all, adore — 
Praise Him, ye kings, who make your 
power 

An image of His own ! 

Ye fair, by nature formed to move. 
Oh praise the eternal source of love, 

With youth's enlivening fire ; 
Let age take up the tuneful lay, 
Sigh His blessed name — then soar away, 

And ask an au gel's lyre ! 

John Ogilvie. 



PSALiI CXLVIII. 

You who dwell above the skies, 

Free from human miseries — 

You whom highest heaven embowers. 

Praise the Lord with all your powers! 

Angels, your clear voices raise — 

Him your heavenly armies praise; 

Sun and moon, with borrowed light; 

All you sparkling eyes of night ; 

Waters hanging in the air ; 

Heaven of heavens — His praise declare, 

His deserved praise record, 

lie who made you by His word — 

Made you evermore to last, 

Set you bounds not to be passed ! 

Let the earth His praise resound ; 

Monstrous whales, and seas profound ; 

Vapors, lightnings, hail, and snow; 

Storms Avhicb, when He bids them, blow; 

Flowery hills and mountains high ; 

Cedars, neighbors to the sky ; 

Trees that fruit in season yield ; 

All the cattle of the field ; 

Savage beasts, all creeping things ; 

All that cut the air with wings; 

You who awful sceptres sway, 

You inured to obey — 

Princes, judges of the earth, 

All of high and humble birth ; 

Youths and virgins flourishing 

In the beauty of yom- spring ; 

You who bow with age's weight, 

You who were but born of late ; 



804 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Praise His name with one consent. 
Oh, how great ! how excellent ! 
Than the earth profounder far, 
Higher than the highest star, 
He will U3 to honor raise ; 
You, His saints, resound His praise — 
You who are of Jacoh's race. 
And united to His grace ! 

Geoege Saudts. 



HYMN. 



"WuEiT all Thy mercies, O my God, 

My rising soul surveys, 
Transported with the view, I 'm lost 

In wonder, love, and praise. 

how shall words with equal warmth 

The gratitude declare. 
That glows within my ravished heart ?- 

Bat Thou canst read it there! 



Thy providence my life sustained, 

And all my wants redrest, 
"When in the silent womb I lay, 

And hung upon the breast. 

To all my weak complaints and cries 

Thy mercy lent an ear. 
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt 

To form themselves in prayer. 

Unnumbered comforts to my soul 

Thy tender care bestowed, 
Before my infant heart conceived 

From whom those comforts flowed. 

When in the slippery paths of youth 

"With heedless steps I ran, 
Thine arm unseen conveyed me safe. 

And led me up to man. 

Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths, 

It gently cleared my way, 
And through the pleasing snares of vice. 

More to be feared than they. 



When worn with sickness oft hast Thou 
With health renewed my face, 

And when in sins and sorrows sunk 
Eevived my soul with grace. 

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss 
Has made my cup run o'er, 

And in a kind and faithful friend 
Has doubled all my store. 

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts 

My daily thanks employ, 
ISTor is the least a cheerful heart, 

That tastes those gifts with joy. 

Through every period of my life 

Thy goodness I '11 pursue, 
And after death in distant worlds 

The glorious theme renew. 

When nature fails, and day and night 
Divide Thy works no more, 

My ever-grateful heart, Lord, 
Thy mercy shall adore. 

Through all eternity to Thee 

A joyful song I '11 raise ; 
For oh ! eternity 's too short 

To utter all Thy praise. 

Joseph Addmon. 



HYMN. 



How are Thy servants blest, Lord ! 

How sure is then' defence ! 
Eternal wisdom is their guide, 

Their help omnipotence. 

In foreign realms, and lands remote, 

Supported by Thy care. 
Through burning climes I passed unhurt, 

And breathed in tainted air. 

Thy mercy sweetened every soil, 

Made every region please ; 
The hoary Alpine hills it warmed, 

And smootlied the Tyrrhene seas. 



LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. 



805 



Think, iny sonl, devoutly think, 

How with affrighted eyes 
Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep 

In all its horrors rise ! 

Confusion dwelt in every face. 

And fear in every heart. 
When waves on waves, and gulfs in gulfs, 

O'ercame the pilot's art. 

Yet then from all my griefs, Lord, 

Thy mercy set me free ; 
"Whilst in the confidence of prayer 

My soul took hold on Thee. 

For though in dreadful whirls we hung. 

High on the broken wave ; 
I knew Thou wert not slow to hear, 

Nor impotent to save. 

The storm was laid, the winds retired. 

Obedient to Thy will ; 
The sea, that roared at Thy command, 

At Thy command was still. 

In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths. 

Thy goodness I '11 adore — 
And praise Thee for Thy mercies past, 

And humbly hope for more. 

My life, if Thou preserv'st my life. 

Thy sacrifice shall be ; 
And death, if death must be my doom, 

Shall join my soul to Thee. 

Joseph Addison. 



THE CREATOR AND CREATURES. 

God is a name my soul adores — 
The almighty Three, the eternal One ! 

NTature and grace, with all their powers. 
Confess the infinite Unknown. 

From Tliy great self Thy being springs — 

Thou art Thy own original. 
Made up of uncreated things ; 

And self-sufllcience bears them all. 



Thy voice in-oduced the seas and spheres, 
Bid the waves roar, and planets sliine ; 

But nothing like Thyself appears 

Through all these spacious works of Thine, 

Still restless nature dies and grows — 
From change to change the creatures run , 

Thy being no succession knows. 
And all Thy vast designs are one. 

A glance of Thine runs through the globes, 
Rules the bright worlds, and moves their 
frame ; 

Broad sheets of light compose Thy robes ; 
Thy guards are formed of living flame. 

Thrones and dominions round Thee fall, 
And worship in submissive forms : 

Thy presence shakes this lower ball, 
This little dwelling-place of worms. 

How shall affrighted mortals dare 

To sing Thy glory or Thy grace- 
Beneath Thy feet we lie so far, 
And see but shadows of Thy face ! 

Who can behold the blazing light — 
Who can approach consuming flame ? 

None but Thy wisdom knows Thy might — 
None but Thy word can speak Thy name. 

Isaac "Watts. 



LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. 

God moves in a mysterious way ' 

His wonders to perform ; 
He plants His footsteps in the sea, 

And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never-failing skill, 
He treasures up His bz-ight designs, 

And works His sovereign will. 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take! 

The clouds ye so much dread 
Are big with mercy, and shall break 

In blessings on your head. 



'~1 



806 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Judge, not the Lord by feeble sense, 
But trust Him for His grace : 

Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour ; 
The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err, 
And scan His work in vain : 

God is His own interpreter, 
And He will make it plain. 

William Cowpek. 



SEAECH AFTER GOD. 

I SOUGHT Thee roimd about, Thou my God ! 

In thine abode. 
[ said unto the earth : " Speak! art thou he? " 

She answered me : 
"I am not." — I enquired of creatures all. 

In general. 
Contained therein — they with one voice pro- 
claim 
That none amongst them challenged such a 
name. 

I asked the seas and all the deeps below, 

!My God to know ; 
I asked the reptiles, and whatever is 

In the abyss — 
Even from the shrimp to the leviathan 

Enquiry ran ; 
But in those deserts which no line can sound. 
The God I sought for was not to be found. 

I asked the air, if that were he ; but 

It told me no. 
I from the towering eagle to the wren 

Demanded then 
Jf any feathered fowl 'mongst them were 
such ; 

But they all, much 
Oflfended with my question, in fall choir 
Answered : " To find thy God thou must look 
higher." 



I asked the heavens, sun, moon, and stars— 
but they 

Said: "We obey 
The God thou seekest." I asked, what eye 
or ear 

Could see or hear — 
What in the world I might descry or know, 

Above, below ; 
— With an unanimous voice, all these things 

said: 
" We are not God, but we by Him were 
made." 

I asked the world's great universal mass, 

If that God was ; 
Which with a mighty and strong voice re- 
plied. 

As stupefied : 
"I am not He, O man ! for know that I 

By Him on high 
Was fashioned first of nothing ; thus instated 
And swayed by Him, by whom I was created." 

I sought the court ; but smooth-tongued flat- 
tery there 

Deceived each ear ; 
In the thronged city there was selling, buy- 
ing, 

Swearing and lying ; 
I' the country, craft in simpleness arrayed — 

And then I said : 
" Vain is my search, although my pains be 

great — 
Where my God is there can be no deceit." 

A scrutiny within myself I, then. 

Even thus, began : 
" O man, what art thou ? " — What more could 
I say 

Than dust and clay — 
Frail, mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast. 

That cannot last — 
Enthroned to-day, to-morrow in an urn. 
Formed from that earth to which I must re- 
turn ? 

I asked myself, what this great God might 
be 

That fashioned me; 
I answered : The all-potent, solely immense, 

Surpassing sense — 



ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. 807 


Unspeakable, inscrutable, eternal, 


What peaceful hours I once enj oyed — 


Lord over all ; 


How sweet their memory still ! 


The only terrible, strong, just, and true. 


But thoy have left an aching void 


Who hath no end, and no beginning knew. 


The world can never fill. 


He is the -well of life, for He doth give 


Return, holy Dove, return ! 


To all that live 


Sweet messenger of rest : 


Both breath and being. He is the creator 


I hate the sins that made Thee mourn, 


Both of the water, 


And drove Thee from my breast. 


Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that sub- 




sist 


The dearest idol I have known. 


He hath the list — 


Whate'er that idol be, 


Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims, 


Help me to tear it from Thy throne. 


He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their 


Aud worship only Thee. 


names. 


William Cowpek. 


And now, my God, by Thine illumining grace. 






Thy glorious face 




(So far forth as it may discovered be) 


ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. 


Methinks I see ; 




And though invisible and infinite. 


Cah I see another's woe. 


To human sight 


And not be in sorrow too ? 


Thou, in Thy mercy, justice, truth, appear- 


Can I see another's grief. 


est — 


And not seek for kind relief? 


In Avhich. to our weak sense Thou comest 




nearest. 






Can I see a falling tear. 


Oh make us apt to seek, and quick to find. 


And not feel my sorrow's share ? 


Thou God, most kind ! 


Can a father see his child 


Give us love, hope, and faith in Thee to trust. 


Weep, nor be with sorrow filled ? 


Thou God, most just! 




Eemit all our oflTences, we entreat — 


Can a mother sit and hear 


Most good, most great ! 


An infant groan, an infant fear ? 


Grant that our willing, thougli unworthy 


No ! no ! never can it be — 


quest 


Never, never can it be ! 


May, through Thy grace, admit us 'mongst 




the blest. 




Thomas Hey-wood. 


And can He who smiles on all. 




Hear the wren with sorrows small. 
Hear the small bird's grief and care. 






Hear the woes that infants bear, — 


WALKING WITH GOD. 




Oh ! for a closer walk with God, 


And not sit beside the nest. 


A calm and heavenly frame. 


Pouring pity in their breast ? 


A light to shine upon the road 


And not sit the cradle near, 


That leads me to the Lamb ! 


Weeping tear on infant's tear ? 


Where is the blessedness I knew 


And not sit both night and day, 


When first I saw the Lord? 


Wiping all our tears away ? 


Where is the soul-refreshing view 


Oh, no ! never can it be — 


Of Jesus and His Avord ? 


Never, never can it bo ! 



808 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


He doth give His joy to all ; 




He becomes an infant small, 


GOD IS LOVE. 


He becomes a man of woe, 




He doth feel the sorrow too. 


All I feel, and hear, and see, 




God of love, Is full of Tliee. 


Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, 


Eaeth, with her ten thousand flowers; 


And thy maker is not nigh ; 


Air, with all its beams and showers ; 


Think not thou canst weep a tear, 


Ocean's infinite expanse ; 


And thy maker is not near. 


Heaven's resplendent countenance — 




All around, and all above, 


Oh ! He gives to us His joy, 


Hath this record : God is love. 


That our griefs He may destroy. 
Till our grief is fled and gone 
He doth sit by us and moan. 

William Bla.ke. 


Sounds among the vales and hills, 
In the woods, and by the rills. 
Of the breeze, and of the bird, 
By the gentle murmur stirred — 


• 


All these songs, beneath, above. 




Have one burden : God is love. 


" HOW GEACIOUS AND HOW WISE." 


All the hopes and fears that start 




From the fountain of the heart ; 


How gracious and how wise 


All the quiet bliss that lies, 


Is our chastising God ! 


All our human sympathies — 


And oh ! how rich the blessings are 


These are voices from above, 


Which blossom from His rod ! 


Sweetly whispering : God is love. 




Anonymous, 


He lifts it up on high 
With pity in His heart. 






That every stroke His children feel 




May grace and peace impart. 


THE EESIGNATIOK 


Instructed thus, they bow. 


God ! whose thunder shakes the sky. 


And own His sovereign sway — 


Whose eye this atom-globe surveys. 


They turn their erring footsteps back 


To Thee, my only rock, I fly, — 


To His forsaken way. 


Thy mercy in Thy justice praise. 


His covenant love they seek, 
And seek the happy bands 

That closer still engage their hearts 
To honor His commands. 


The mystic mazes of Thy will. 
The shadows of celestial night, 

Are past the power of human skill ; 
But what the Eternal acts is right. 




teach me, in the trying hour — 


Dear Father, we consent 


When anguish swells the dewy tear- 


To discipline divine ; 


To still my sorrows, Qjvn Thy power. 


And bless the pains that make oxir souls 


Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear. 


Still more completely Thine. 




Philip Doddeidgb. 


If in this bosom aught but Thee, 




Encroaching, sought a boundless sway 
Omniscience could the danger see, 






And mercy look the cause away. [ 



CHORUS. 



509 



Then wliy, my soul, dost thou complain— 
"Why drooping seek the dark recess i 

Shake off the melancholy chain ; 
For God created all to hless. 

But ah ! my breast is human still ; 

The rising sigh, the falling tear, 
Hy languid vitals' feeble rill, 

The sickness of my soul declare. 

But yet, with fortitude resigned, 

I '11 thank the inflictor of the blow — 

Forbid the sigh, compose my mind, 
Nor let the gush of misery flow. 

The gloomy mantle of the night. 
Which on my sinking spirit steals, 

Will vanish at the morning light, 

Which God, my east, my sun, reveals. 
Thomas Chatterton. 



CHORUS. 

King of kings ! and Lord of lords ! 
Thus we move, our sad steps timing 
To our cymbals' feeblest chiming. 
Where Thy house its rest accords. 
Chased and wounded birds are we, 
Through the dark air fled to Thee — 
To the shadow of Thy wings. 
Lord of lords ! and king of kings ! 

Behold, Lord ! the heathen tread 
The branches of Thy fruitful vine, 
That its luxurious tendrils spread 

O'er all the hills of Palestine. 
And now the wild boar comes to waste- 
Even us — the greenest boughs and last, 
That, drinking of Thy choicest dew, 
On Zion's hill in beauty grew. 

No I by the marvels of Thine hand, 
Thou wilt save Thy chosen land ! 
By all Thine ancient mercies shown. 
By all our fathers' foes o'erthrown ; 
By the Egyptian's car-borne host, 
Scattered on the Red Sea coast — 
By that wide and bloodless slaughter 
Underneath the drowning water. 

Like us, in utter helplessness. 
In their last and worst distress — 
lOG 



On the sand and sea-weed lying — 
Israel poured her doleful sighing ; 
While before the deep sea flowed, 
And behind fierce Egypt rode — 
To their fathers' God they prayed, 
To the Lord of hosts for aid. 

On the margin of the flood 

With lifted rod the prophet stood ; 

And the summoned east wind blew, 

And aside it sternly threw 

The gathered waves that took their stand, 

Like crystal rocks, on either hand, 

Or walls of sea-green marble piled 

Eotind some irregular city wild. 

Then the light of morning lay 
On the wonder-paved way. 
Where the treasures of the deep 
In their caves of coral sleep. 
The profound abysses, where 
Was never sound from upper air, 
Rang with Israel's chanted words : 
King of kings ! and Lord of lords ! 

Then with bow and banner glancing, 

On exulting Egypt came ; 
With her chosen horsemen prancing, 

And her cars on wheels of flame, 
In a rich and boastful ring, 
All around her furious king. 

But the Lord from out His cloud. 
The Lord looked down upon the proud ; 
And the host drave heavily 
Down the deep bosom of the sea. 

With a quick and sudden swell 

Prone the liquid ramparts fell ; 

Over horse, and over car. 

Over every man of war, 

Over Pharaoh's crown of gold, 

The loud thundering biUows rolled. 

As the level waters spread, 

Down they sank — they sank like lead — 

Down sank without a cry or groan. 

And the morning sun, that shone 

On myriads of bright-armed men. 

Its meridian radiance then 

Cast on a wide sea, heaving, as of yore, 

Against a silent, solitary shore. 

Henry IIabt Milman. 



810 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



THE UOTYEESAL PKAYER. 

DEO OPT. MAX. 

Fathee of all ! in everv age, 

In every clime adored — 
By saint, by savage, and by sage — 

Jehovab, Jove, or Lord ! 

Thou great first cause, least understood, 

Who all my sense confined 
To know but this : that Thou art good, 

And that myself am blind ; 

Yet gave me, in this dark estate, 

To see the good from ill ; 
And, binding nature fast in fate, 

Left free the human will. 

What conscience dictates to be done. 

Or warns me not to do. 
This teach me more than hell to shun. 

That more than heaven pursue. 

What blessings Thy free bounty gives 

Let me not cast away — 
For God is paid when man receives : 

To enjoy is to obey. 

Yet not to earth's contracted span 

Thy goodness let me bound, 
Or think Thee Lord alone of man. 

When thousand worlds are round. 

Jj(3t not this weak, unknowing hand 
Presume Thy bolts to throw. 

And deal damnation round the land 
On each I judge Thy foe. 

If I am right, Thy grace impart 

Still in the right to stay ; 
If I am wrong, oh teach my heart 

To find that better way. 

Save me alike from foolish pride 

Or impious discontent, 
At aught Thy wisdom ha^ denied. 

Or aught Thy goodness lent. 



Teach me to feel another's woe, 

To hide the fault I see — 
That mercy I to others sliow. 

That mercy show to me. 

Mean though I am, not wholly so. 
Since quickened by Thy breath ; 

Oh lead me, wheresoe'er I go 
Through this day's life or death. 

This day be bread and peace my lot- 
All else beneath the sun 

Thou know'st if best bestowed or not, 
And let Thy will be done. 

To Thee, whose temple is all space. 
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies — 

One chorus let all being raise ! 
All nature's incense rise ! 

Alexander Pope. 



DIVINE EJACULATION-. 



Geeat God! whose sceptre rules the earth, 
Distil Thy fear into my heart. 
That, being rapt with holy mirth, 
I may proclaim how good Thou art ; 
Open my lips, that I may sing 
Full praises to my God, my king. 



Great God ! Thy garden is defaced. 
The weeds thrive there, Thy flowers decay; 
Oh call to mind Thy promise past — 
Eestore Thou them, cut tliese away ; 
Till then let not the weeds have power 
To starve or stint the poorest flower. 



In all extremes. Lord, Thou art still 
The mount whereto my hopes do flee ; 
Oh make my soul detest all ill. 
Because so much abliorred by Thee ; 
Lord, let Thy gracious trials show 
That I am just^or njake me so. 



THOU, GOD, SEEST ME. 



811 



Shall mountain, desert, beast, and tree. 
Yield to that heavenly voice of Thine, 
And shall that voice not startle me, 
Nor stir this stone, tliis heart of mine ? 
No, Lord, till Thou new-bore mine ear, 
Thy voice is lost, I cannot hear. 



Fountain of light and living breath, 
Whose mercies never fail nor fade. 
Fill me with life that hath no death. 
Fill ine with light that hath no shade '; 
Appoint the remnant of my days 
To see Thy power and sing Thy praise. 



Lord God of gods ! before whose throne 
Stand storms and fire, oh what shall we 
Return to heaven, that is our own. 
When all the world belongs to Thee ? 
We have no ofierings to impart, 
But praises, and a wounded heart. 



Thou that sitt'st in heaven and see'st 
My deeds without, my thoughts within. 
Be Thou my prince, be Thou my priest- 
Command my soul, and cure my sin ; 
How bitter my afflictions be 

1 care not, so I rise to Thee. 



What I possess, or what I crave. 
Brings no content, great God, to me. 
If what I would, or what I have. 
Be not possessed and blest in Thee : 
What I enjoy, oh make it mine. 
In making me — that have it — Thine. 



AVhen winter fortunes cloud the brows 

Of summer friends — when eyes grow strange— 

When plighted faith forgets its vows, 

When earth and all things in it change — 

Lord, Thy mercies fail mo never ; 

Where once Thou lov'st, Thou lov'st for ever. 



Great God ! whose kingdom hath no enil. 
Into whose secrets none can dive. 
Whose mercy none can apprehend. 
Whose justice none can feel — and live. 
What my dull heart cannot aspire 
To know, Lord, teach me to admire. 

JOHJf QUAKLES. 



"THOU, GOD, SE*EST ME." 

God, unseen but not unknown, 
Thine eye is ever fixed on me ; 

1 dwell beneath Thy secret throne. 
Encompassed by Thy deity. 

Throughout this universe of space 

To nothing am I long allied ; 
For flight of time, and change of place, 

My strongest, dearest bonds divide. 

Parents I had, but where are they ? 

Friends whom I knew I know no more ; 
Companions, once that cheered my way, 

Have dropped behind or gone before. 

Now I am one amidst a crowd 
Of life and action hurrying round ; 

Now left alone — for, like a cloud, 

They came, they went, and are not found. 

Even from myself sometimes I part — 
Unconscious sleep is nightly death — 

Yet surely by my couch Thou art. 

To prompt my pulse, inspire my breath. 

Of all that I have done and said 

How little can I now recall ! 
Forgotten things to me are dead ; 

With Thee they live, — Thou know'st thoin 
all. 

Thou hast been with me from the Avomb, 

Witness to every conflict here ; 
Nor wilt Thou leave me at the tomb — 

Before Thy bar I must appear. 

The moment comes, — the only one 

Of all my time to be foretold ; 
Yet when, and how, and Avhere, can none 

Among the race of man unfold: — 



812 



POEMS OF KELIGION. 



The moment comes -when strength shall fail, 
When — health, and hope, and courage 
flown — 

I must go down into the vale 
And shade of death with Thee alone. 

Alone with Thee ! — in that dread strife 
Uphold me through mine agony ; 

And gently be this dying life 
Exchanged for immortality. 

Then, when the uuhodied spirit lands 
"Where flesh and blood have never trod, 

And in the unveiled presence stands, 
Of Thee, my Saviour and my God — 

Be mine eternal portion this — 
Since Thou wert always here with me : 

That I may view Thy foce in bliss. 
And be for evermore with Thee. 

JAME3 MONTGOMEET. 



DELIGHT IN" GOD ONLY. 

I LOVE, and have some cause to love, the 
earth — 
She is my maker's creature, therefore good. 
She is my mother, for she gave me birth ; 
She is my tender nurse, she gives me 

food: 
But what's a creature. Lord, compared 

with Thee ? 
Or what 's my mother or my nurse to me ? 

I love the air — ^lier dainty sweets refresh 

My drooping soul, and to new sweets in- 
vite me ; 
Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with 
their flesh. 

And with their polyphonian notes delight 
me : 

But what 's the air, or all the sweets that 
she 

Can bless my soul withal, compared to 
Thee? 



I love the sea — she is my fellow-creature, 
My careful purveyor ; she provides me 
store ; 
She walls me round ; she makes my diet 
greater ; 
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore : 
But, Lord of oceans, when compared with 

Thee, 
"What is the ocean or her wealth to me ? 

To heaven's high city I direct my journey, 
"Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine 

eye- 
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney, 
Transcends the crystal pavement of the 

sky: 
But what is heaven, great God, compared 

to Thee ? 
"Without Thy presence, heaven 's no heaven 

to me. 

"Without Thy presence, earth gives no refec- 
tion ; 

"Without Thy presence, sea aflords no treas- 
ure ; 
"Without Thy presence, air 's a rank infection ; 

"Without Thy presence, heaven 's itself no 
pleasure : 

If not possessed, if not enjoyed in Thee, 

"What 's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to 
me? 

The highest honors that the world can boast 

Are subjects far too low for my desire ; 
The brightest beams of glory are, at most, 
But dying sparkles of Thy living fire ; 
The loudest flames that earth can kindle, 

be 
But nightly glow-worms if compared to 
Thee. 

"Without Thy presence, wealth is bags of 

cares ; 
"Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness; 
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ; 
Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing 

madness — 
"Without Thee, Lord, tilings be not what 

they be, 
Nor have their being, when compared with 

Thee. 



GOD'S GREATNESS, 



813 



III lias'ing all things, and not Thcc, "what 
have I ? 
Not having Tliee, what have my labors 
got? 
Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I? 
And having Thee alone, what have I not ? 
I wish nor sea, nor land, nor would I be 
Possessed of heaven, heaven nni)ossessod 
of Thee ! 

Feancis Quarles. 



TBIE PAST, TIME PASSmG, TIME TO 
COME. 

Lord, Thou hast been Thy people's rest, 
Through all their generations — 

Their refuge when by troubles pressed, 
Their hope in tribulations : 

Thou, ere the mountains sprang to birth. 

Or ever Thou hadst formed the earth. 
Art God from everlasting. 

Our life is like the transient breath. 
That tells a mournful story — 

Early or late stopped short by death — 
And where is all our glory ? 

Our days are threescore years and ten, 

And if the span be lengthened then, 
Their strength is toil and sorrow. 

Lo ! Thou hast set before Thine eyes 

All our misdeeds and errors ; 
Our secret sins from darkness rise 

At Thine awakening terrors : 
Who shall abide the trying hour ? 
"Who knows the thunder of Thy power ? 

We flee unto Thy mercy. 

Lord, teach us so to mark our days 
That we may prize them duly ; 

So guide our feet in wisdom's ways 
Tliat we may love Thee truly ; 

Return, Lord ! our griefs behold, 

And with Thy goodness, as of old, 

Oh satisfy us early ! 

James Montgombey. 



"TIIOU GOD UNSEARCHABLE.-' 

TnoTT God unsearchable, unknown, 
Who still conceal'st Thyself from me, 

Hear an apostate spirit groan — 

Broke off and banished far from Thee : 

But conscious of my fall I mourn, 

And fain I would to Thee return. 

Send forth one ray of heavenly light. 
Of gospel hope, of humble fear. 

To guide me through the gulf of night — 
My poor desponding soul to cheer, 

Till Thou my unbelief remove. 

And show me all Thy glorious love. 

A hidden God indeed Thou art — 
Thy absence I this moment feel ; 

Yet must I own it from my heart — 
Concealed, Thou ai-t a Saviour still ; 

And though Thy face I cannot see, 

I know Thine eye is fixed on me. 

My Saviour Thou, not yet revealed ; 

Yet will I Thee my Saviour call. 
Adore Thy hand — from sin withheld — 

Thy hand shall save me from my fall : 
Now Lord, throughout my darkness shine. 
And show Thyself for ever mine. 

Charles WEeLB-y. 



GOD'S GREATNESS. 

GOD, Thou bottomless abyss ! 

Thee to perfection who can know ? 
O height immense ! what words suffice 

Thy countless attributes to show ? 
Unfathomable depths Thou art ! 

plunge me in Thy mercy's sea ! 
Void of true wisdom is my heart — 

With love embrace and cover me ! 
While Thee, all infinite, I set 

By faith before my ravished eye, 
My weakness bends beneath the weight— 

O'erpowered, I sink, I faint, I die ! 

Eternity Thy fountain was. 

Which, like Thee, no beginning knew : 
Thou wast ere time began his race. 

Ere glowed with stars tlv ethereal blue. 



8J4 



POEMS or RELIGION 



Greatness iinspeakable is Thine — 

Greatness whose undiminished ray, 
When short-lived -worlds are lost, shall 
shine, — 

When earth and heaven are fled away. 
Unchangeahle, all-perfect Lord, 

Essential life 's unbounded sea ! 
What lives and moves, lives by Tliy word ; 

It lives, and moves, and is, from Thee. 

Thy parent-hand. Thy forming skill, 

Fkm fixed this universal chain ; 
Else empty, barren darkness still 

Had held his unmolested reign. 
Whate'er in earth, or sea, or sky. 

Or shuns or meets the wandering thought. 
Escapes or strikes the searching eye, 

By Thee was to perfection brought ! 
High is Thy power above all height •, 

Whate'er Thy will decrees is done ; 
Thy wisdom, equal to Thy migh.t. 

Only to Thee, God, is known ! 

Heaven's glory is Thy awful throne, 

Yet earth partakes Tliy gracious sway; 
Vain man ! thy wisdom folly own — 

Lost is thy reason's feeble ray. 
What our dim eye could never see 

Is plain and naked to Thy sight ; 
What thickest darkness veils, to Thee 

Shines clearly as the morning light. 
In light Thou dwell'st, light that no shade, 

No variation, ever knew ; 
Heaven, earth, and hell stand all disjjlayed, 

And open to Thy piercing view. 

Thott, true and only God, lead'st forth 

Th' immortal armies of the sky ; 
Thou laugh'st to scorn the gods of earth ; 

Thou thunderest, and amazed they fly ! 
With downcast eye th' angelic choir 

Appear before Thy awful face ; 
Trembling they strike the golden lyre. 

And through heaven's vault resound Thy 
praise. 
In earth, in heaven, in all Thou art ; 

The conscious creature feels Thy nod, 
Whose forming hand on every part 

Impressed the image of its God. 



Thine, Lord, is wisdom, Thine alone ! 

Justice and truth before Tliee stand , 
Yet, nearer to Thy sacred throne, 

Mercy withholds Thy lifted hand. 
Each evening shows Thy tender love, 

Each rising morn Thy plenteous grace ; 
Thy wakened wrath doth slowly move. 

Thy willing mercy flies apace ! 
To Thy benign, indulgent care. 

Father, this light, this breath we owe ; 
And all we have, and aU we are. 

From Thee, great source of being, flow. 

Parent of good. Thy bounteous hand 

Incessant blessings down distils, 
And all in air, or sea, or land, 

With plenteous food and gladness fills. 
All things in Thee live, move, and are — 

Thy power infused doth all sustain ; 
Even those Thy daily favors share 

Who thankless spurn Thy easy reign. 
Thy sun Thou bidd'st his genial ray 

Alike on all impartial pour ; 
To all, who hate or bless Thy sway. 

Thou bidd'st descend the fruitful shower. 

Yet while, at length, who scorned Thy mighl 

Shall feel Thee a consuming fire, 
How sweet the joys, the crown how bright, 

Of those who to Thy love aspire ! 
All creatures praise th' eternal name ! 

Ye hosts that to His court belong — 
Cherubic choirs, seraphic flames — 

Awake the everlasting song ! 
Thrice holy ! Thine the kingdom is — 

The power omnipotent is Thine ; 
And when created nature dies, 

Thy never-ceasing glories shine. 

Joachim Justus Bkeithatjpt. (Gern.an.; 

Translation of John Wesley. 



GOD. 



THOU eternal One ! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all motion guide — 
Unchanged through time's all-devastating 

flight ! 
Thou only God— there is no God beside I 
Being above all beiiigs ! Mighty One, 



GOD. 



815 



Whom none can compreliend and none ex- 
plore ! 
Who fill'st existence witli Thyself alone — 
Embracing all, snpportinjr, ruling o'er, — 
Being -whom we call God, and know no 



In its sublime research, philosophy 

May measure out the ocean-deep — may count 

The sands or the sun's rays — but, God ! for 

Thee 
There is no weight nor measure ; none can 

mount 
Up to Thy mysteries ; Reason's brightest 

spark. 
Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would 

^try 
To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark ; 
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so 

high, 
Even like past moments in eternity. 

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call 

First chaos, then existence — Lord ! in Thee 

Eternity had its foundation ; all 

Sprung forth from Thee — of light, joy, har- 
mony, 

Sole Origin — all life, all beauty Thine ; 

Thy word created all, and doth create ; 

Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine ; 

Thou art, and wert, and shalt be ! Glorious ! 
Great ! 

Light-giving, life-sustaining potentate! 

Thy chains the unmeasured universe sur- 
round — 
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with 

breath ! 
lliou the beginning with the end hast bound, 
And beautifully mingled life and death ! 
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery 

blaze, 
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from 

Thee ; 
And as the spangles in the sunny rays 
Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 
Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy 
praise. 

A million torches lighted by Thy hand 
Wander unwearied through tJie blue abyss — 



They own Tliy power, accomplish Thy com- 
mand. 

All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 

Wliat shall we call them ? Piles of crystal 
light— 

A glorious company of golden streams — 

Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — 

Suns lighting systems with their joyous 
beams ? 

But Thou to these art as the noon to night. 

Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea. 
All this magnificence in Thee is lost : — 
What are ten thousand worlds compared to 

Thee? 
And what am I then ? — Heaven's unnum- 
bered host, 
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 
In all the glory of sublimest thought. 
Is but an atom in the, balance, weighed 
Against Thy greatness — is a cipher brought 
Against infinity ! "What am I then ? Kaught ! 

Faught ! But the efl3uence of Thy light di- 
vine, 
Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom 

too ; 
Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine. 
As shines the sun-beam iu a drop of dew. 
Naught ! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly 
Eager towards Thy presence — for in Thee 
I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high, 
Even to the throne of Thy divinity. 
I am, God ! and surely Thou must be ! 

Thou art! — directing, guiding all — Thou art! 
Direct my understanding then to Thee ; 
Control my spirit, guide my wandering 

heart ; 
Though but an atom midst immensity, 
Still I am something, fashioned by Thy 

hand ! 
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and 

earth — 
On the last verge of mortal being stand, 
Close to the realms where angels have their 

birth. 
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land ! 

The chain of being is complete in me — 
In me is matter's last gradation lost,* 



L_, 



816 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



And tlae next step is spirit — deity ! 

I can command tlie liglitning, and am dust ! 

A monarcli and a slave — a worm, a god ! 

Whence came I here, and how ? so marvel- 
lously 

Constructed and conceived ? unknown ! this 
clod 

Lives surely through some higher energy ; 

For from itself alone it could not be ! 

Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word 
Created me ! Thou source of life and good ! 
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! 
Tliy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude 
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring 
Over the abyss of death ; and bade it wear 
The garments of eternal day, and wing 



Its lieavenly flight beyond this little sphere, 
Even to its source — to Thee — its author 
there. 

Oh thoughts ineifable ! oh visions blest ! 
Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, 
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast. 
And waft its homage to Thy deity. 
God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can 

soar. 
Thus seek Thy presence — Being wise and 

good ! 
Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore ; 
And when the tongue is eloquent no more 
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. 

Gabriel Eomanowitch Dekzhavin. (Russian.) 
Translation of John BowRiNfi 



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